Halls of Stone and Iron
by WENN9366
Summary: When Enos is arrested for a murder he didn't commit, his life will never be the same. Remanded to the Fulton County Jail in Atlanta to await trial, how long can he hold on to his sanity in a world where the only good cop is a dead one? Crime/Suspense/Psychological Trauma/Adventure (Enos centric, but involves all characters)
1. Bad Moon Rising

_"Freedom is a pillow of dreams to those who rest in chains."  
-the author  
_

* * *

Thursday, July 25, 1985

* * *

It had seemed ridiculous at first – a wild goose chase up to the middle of nowhere in a little county called Hazzard on an anonymous tip.

The District Attorney's office had insisted, however, and so a group of people who by all rights stuck out like a sore thumb against the rural landscape, had gathered together off a dusty back-road in the sweltering heat of summer. Lined up beside the road, near a bluff known locally as Hickory Ridge on the edge of Stillson Canyon, were four Georgia State Patrol cruisers and a jet black '82 Plymouth Fury. The cars were empty, the officers having been dispatched to search the bush and crevices in the ravine below and the surrounding woods.

Special Agent Robert Wilburn was no stranger to rural Georgia, having grown up in Waynesville, a town of about 4,500 in Brantley County, but the heat never seemed to get quite as oppressive near the coast as it did here in the foothills of the Appalachians. He had been stationed with the Bureau in Conyers for eighteen years now, but he still missed the constant breeze, tasting slightly of salt, that rolled in from the Atlantic Ocean.

He breathed in deeply, appreciating the cleaner air, smelling strongly of vegetation in the baking sun, and of the hard clay that rose in slight puffs of dust under his feet, but nonetheless feeling further from home than he cared to.

"Sir!" An officer called, bringing him back to the present. "Sir, I think we've got something!"

Wilburn made his way to the left of the overhang, joined on the way by the Georgia Bureau of Investigation's young Coroner and his partner, Special Agent Tim Stewart. As they neared, the officer moved out of the way, gesturing to a small area that had been cleared away where a large grouping of bones was now visible, scattered in the dirt.

He let the Coroner look first, rolling his eyes at his partner. "Well, I guess we ain't gonna make it home for supper."

"If that's him, he's right where th' girl said he'd be," answered Stewart. "Can't be much left after two years, though. I'm surprised th' coyotes didn't drag him off."

An officer with a camera began taking pictures and they backed up for a moment so that she could get a clear shot of the crime scene. There wasn't much to photograph, and the Coroner quickly knelt back down beside the remains.

"This guy's a mess," he said, disgusted. "He's got more broken bones than not. It'll take a month t' piece him back t'gether."

"You want me to call it in?" Stewart asked Wilburn.

The older man shook his head. "No, I'll do it. I need to talk to the DA anyway. There's already a warrant out, but he'll want to know we found the corroborating evidence."

He left the crime scene and walked back to the Plymouth and got into the passenger seat, sighing as he picked up the phone in the center console and dialed the number of the Georgia District Attorney's office.

* * *

Ten miles to the northwest of Hazzard proper, an orange Dodge Charger tore down a lonesome back-road, the dust of the hard-pack churning up like a billowing cloud behind it. The driver and two passengers were tired and nearly as dirty as the car, owing to the fact that the air conditioner in the General Lee hadn't worked properly since Luke had decided to tear into it the year before. In fact, they wouldn't have ventured out at all into the heat had it not been for a sale on peaches at the Parker Peach Orchard in the tiny town of Jackson up on the border of Hatchape County.

Daisy pulled her sweat-soaked hair back from her face, flipping it up behind her to cool her neck, and wished she'd had the good sense to put it up in a ponytail before they'd left. It was bad enough to be this hot, but being the smallest, she always drew the short straw of sitting in the middle, away from the breeze of the windows and between two smelly, sweaty guys.

She took a swig of cool water from the Mason jar she was holding before passing it over to Luke who accepted it gratefully. "We get home, we're gonna have t' water them tomato plants again," she reminded them.

"I reckon it don't matter none," griped Bo, "We ain't doin' any good. Th' water just dries up as soon as it hits th' ground. Why, them plants won't have a dozen tomatoes between th' lot of 'em."

Bo was right, she knew it, but she'd not been ready to admit defeat just yet. "A dozen off th' vine's a dozen we ain't gotta buy at th' store, Bo Duke," she scolded. The guys might think groceries grew on trees, but she did the shopping.

He took his eyes off the road long enough to scowl at her. "Well, I don't _like_ my tomatoes all dried an' shriveled up."

"You get out an' water 'em more, they wouldn't be dried up!"

Luke groaned. This kind of heat always put him in a sour mood. "You two stop your fussin'. It' too hot t-"

His words died on his lips as the General Lee rounded the corner at Hickory Ridge at the northern end of Stillson Canyon. To the side of the road were four Georgia State Patrol cars and a jet black Plymouth Fury with tinted windows and government plates.

"What th' heck's goin' on?" wondered Bo, aloud.

Luke shook his head. "I don't know. Pull over, Bo, let's see if they need any help."

"I'm right on it, cuz."


	2. Shadow of a Pale Horse

_"...Above, the polished blue _o_f a burnished August sky, _  
_Is an inverted bowl _o_f every drop drained dry."_  
Drought by May Converse

* * *

Life in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Northern Georgia was a delicate cycle, a never-ending balance though the changing seasons where the difference between scarcity and abundance depended greatly on consequences beyond human control.

Though the textbooks claimed copper mining and forestry as major industries, moonshine was the region's main export and had been since the Scotch-Irish had settled the region over two hundred years before. But what had once had been a booming, thriving existence, had been tempered since the repeal of Prohibition and the institution of the whiskey tax in 1933. Nowadays, with little money and few resources, a moonshiner's life was tough and often shorter than average.

This year the odds had been stacked doubly against them, owing to the worst drought the region had seen in over thirty years. It was July 25th - high summer now, and the last measurable rain had come in the second week of March.

With no corn, there would be no whiskey, and without whiskey to sell would come poverty in the winter. Dread hovered, unspoken, like a black cloud over the residents of that region, and Deputy Enos Strate, who had grown up the son of a boot-legger, could read it clear in the eyes of every moonshiner he passed.

It was the dry spell which his thoughts were centered on that morning, sitting at his desk in Hazzard's Police Station with a stack of arrest warrants and wanted posters forgotten in front of him. As far removed as he was from the life he'd grown up with, he understood the gravity of the situation perhaps better than most. He'd seen with his own eyes the damage a bad year could bestow on the less fortunate families in the hills of Northern Georgia.

"Enos!" Rosco bellowed from across the room. "If you're just gonna sit there lolly-gaggin', you might as well grab me a corn-dog from th' Busy Bee."

The deputy sighed inwardly. Rosco couldn't, wouldn't, and didn't care to understand. Not that it was completely his own fault, he had been born and raised on the other side of that invisible line in the sand between the hill people and the law. His father had been a sheriff before him, and his grandfather before that. To Rosco, moonshiners were just another nuisance.

"Sure thing, Sheriff," he said, enthusiastically, rising to his feet. "You want some fries with that, too?"

"No, dip-stick, I don't want fries with it. If I'd wanted fries, I woulda said fries."

Enos grabbed his hat from the coat-rack. "Okay, I'll be right back."

He welcomed a chance to leave the stuffy office, even though the temperature was already soaring once again into the high nineties outside. A wave of heat rolled in as he opened the door and he shut it quickly behind him to keep the air-conditioning in.

From the bleached and cloudless sky, the sun bore down on him, suffocating and explosive, and he narrowed his eyes against the glare reflecting off the asphalt as he crossed over to Hazzard Square. The grass crunched under his feet, as brittle and dead as everything else it seemed in Georgia that year. No weed problems this summer, he reckoned... No crops either.

* * *

The Busy Bee sat in a squat little building beside the Post Office, it's perky facade of red-checkered curtains beckoning passer-byes to come in and sit a spell. A sandwich board cheerfully propped up in front declared that their egg salad was the special of the day and a cold glass of lemonade could be had for only 50 cents.

The heat spoiled Enos' appetite for anything heavy, but they had strawberry pie, too, and he thought that might just hit the spot.

It was still early for lunch and there was only one other patron in the cafe, eating at a table in the back corner. At the counter stood a girl, thin and of medium height, her brown hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail. At the moment she was looking down, doodling an abstract, pointy design onto the corner of a napkin, oblivious to Enos who stood quietly in front of her, watching her with fond amusement.

"Whatcha doin?"

She startled and dropped the pen. "Oh! Hey, Enos!" she said, blushing. "Just a sec." She disappeared beneath the counter to retrieve her pen before popping back up.

"Hey Viv, sorry, I didn't mean t' scare ya'."

Vivian shook her head and pushed an imaginary stray hair nervously behind her ear. "Oh, that's okay," she assured him with a laugh. "I was just thinkin' how nice it'd be for a tall, handsome man t' come an' sweep me offa my feet."

Enos grinned. He couldn't remember how it had begun, or truthfully who had even started the flirting between himself and the young waitress, but it was...well- it was _nice_. He even had his suspicions that she actually meant half of what she said.

He leaned across the counter towards her. "I've heard," he confided, quietly, "that baitin' your traps with pie'll pull 'em right in."

She bit her lip as her eyes met his. "Ya' want some pie, Enos?"

Enos backed up, enough to end the joke, but not so much as to let her think she'd made him uncomfortable. "Actually," he said, in his normal voice, "that sounds pretty good. It's too hot outside t' eat anything else."

Her tongue clicked in disapproval. "Enos Strate, pie isn't a meal. You're gonna waste away t' nothin', and then we'll just be stuck with ol' Rosco t' do the _real _work around here."

"Shucks, Vivian, you'd make a great drill sergeant. Fine, I'll take a piece of strawberry pie _and_ a glass of buttermilk."

"Oh, just go sit down," she griped good-naturedly, rolling her eyes.

Enos took a seat by the window and watched the cars driving past the square until the waitress set a slice of pie and a glass of buttermilk down in front of him. "Thanks, Viv."

She smiled shyly down at him. "See ya' tomorrow?"

"Count on it," he told her.


	3. Before the Storm

_"It's always calmest before the storm."_

* * *

Bo pulled the General Lee off to the side of the road past the police cars, and the three of them walked back towards the short turn off that led out to the ridge. A plastic, yellow ribbon with the words "Police Line Do Not Cross" printed periodically in black across it, marked off the entrance to the overlook and extended past them, along the trees and back into the woods. They hadn't been seen yet, the ditch they were standing in being at a lower angle than the road, and Luke held them back as the voices came closer.

Four uniformed State Troopers came into view carrying between them a large black object which looked to Luke like a body bag, the sun glinting dully off the zipper running lengthwise down its center. The officers were closely followed by two men in dress shirts, ties, and slacks, and several more voices could be heard from further back along the trail.

Luke cleared his throat. "Scuse me, sir," he began, loudly, stepping forward, "is there anything we can help y'all with?"

The eyes of the two men in shirts and ties turned towards him, the elder one gesturing to the younger to continue with the police officers before he himself turned and walked over to where the three of them stood.

"Afternoon," he greeted, his voice serious. "I'm Special Agent Wilburn with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I'm goin' to have to ask you to step back away from this area, please."

Luke, Daisy, and Bo exchanged confused looks between them.

"Isn't that like the FBI?" asked Daisy. Of all the crimes perpetuated in Hazzard County, few had been serious enough to warrant Federal attention.

"We conduct investigations with the state, ma'am. Right now, I need the three of you to cross over to the other side of the road."

He gestured towards the far side with a no nonsense air, and obviously expected them to move quickly. The three of them started back across the road, slowly, the agent following close behind, keeping tabs on them.

"What's goin' on, anyways?" asked Luke. "Looked like a body bag you fellas were bringin' outta there."

"That's not something I can discuss with you until the family has been notified," he told them.

As they stepped into the grass on the far side of the road, the man took a notepad and pen from his pocket. "I'm goin' to need your names and addresses. Just standard procedure," he explained when they looked surprised.

"Uh, well, I'm Bo Duke, this here's my cousin Luke Duke, an' my other cousin, Daisy Duke. We all live at th' farm down yonder off Mill Road."

The agent, who had been diligently copying their information, stopped and looked up at Bo. ""Down yonder" won't cut it for the address, son. What's the number?"

"1217 Mill Creek Road," said Daisy. "So...you're sayin' somebody _died_ back there?" She pointed towards the ridge.

"Looks that way, ma'am." The agent studied them for a moment. "Say, since you three are from around here, you wouldn't be able to tell me where I could find a-" He checked a previous page in his notepad. "- Deputy Benjamin Strate right now, could you?"

Daisy sputtered a laugh and Luke and Bo both looked at the man as though he were crazy.

"You mean _Enos _Strate?" she said. "You won't get very far callin' him Benjamin. He hates that name."

The Agent scribbled down something then looked back up at her. "Would you know where he might be at this moment?"

Daisy shrugged. "Well, sure. I reckon he's at th' Sheriff's Station if he's not gettin' lunch at th' Busy Bee."

Agent Wilburn closed his notepad and slid it and the pen back into his shirt pocket. "Thank you, kindly, folks," he said, giving them a short nod of dismissal. "If we need any more information from you, we'll be in touch."

He turned away from them and walked back across the street to where his partner waited with the officers and, after a brief conversation, Agent Wilburn got into the driver's seat of the Plymouth. The Dukes watched as it sped away, followed by two of the State Patrol cars, the other Agent and officers staying behind to presumably safeguard the area.

"What th' heck do ya' think all _that _was about, Luke?" asked Bo, still staring down the road into the dust.

Luke shook his head, slowly. "I have no idea, cuz, but I think we'd oughta go tell Uncle Jesse about it."

The other two silently agreed and began walking back towards the General Lee.

"Wonder what they wanted with Enos," mused Daisy.

Bo shrugged indifferently. "Maybe they got a tip that he's th' only officer who knows what he's doin' around here," he said, with a smirk.

* * *

Enos watched Vivian as she walked away and sighed, frustrated. Why couldn't it be this easy with Daisy? Sure, Daisy flirted with him, but he could never make heads or tails of it. Was she actually attracted to him, or did she just enjoy seeing how many times could she make him squirm and blush in a week?

Four months ago - the day they'd almost gotten married, was the first time he'd truly sat down and thought everything through and been completely honest with himself. He hadn't had anything better to do, lying on the metal bunk in Hazzard's jail cell, waiting for someone to realize what a horrible mistake they'd made.

He'd begun to wonder then, as he did now, if he was more in love with the _idea_ of being in love with Daisy. As hard as he'd tried to hold onto the memories of how close they used to be when they were kids, the older he got, the more he found they slipped through his fingers. He was still in love with the girl he'd grown up with, but he wasn't sure _that_ Daisy even existed anymore.

By the time the bank robbers had been caught that day, and his name had been cleared, he'd accepted that her proposal had been a rash gesture of one friend merely trying to save another, and nothing more. She'd surprised him by wanting to go ahead with their wedding, but, in the end, he couldn't take the chance that she was still only doing it to spare his feelings - not because she loved him, and so he'd snuck into the Boar's Nest walk in freezer, downed two pieces of coconut cream pie, and waited for the hives.

And now? The whole thing might as well not have happened at all. He had left her to take the lead, having vowed long ago that he would never push her into something that he wasn't sure she wanted, and she'd gone back to the meaningless, impersonal flirting just as before. Sometimes he felt like he was a hamster, running on a endless wheel but never actually getting anywhere.

He caught Vivian's eyes from across the cafe, and she blushed and flashed him a pretty grin.

Maybe he should ask _Vivian_ out. Lord knew he wasn't getting any younger. It might be nice for a change, going on a date with someone he didn't have such a long and complicated history with. Get to know each other from the beginning. Would it shock the good people of Hazzard to know that Enos Strate was capable of being attracted to someone other than Daisy Duke? Not only that, but Viv was only twenty-one, twelve years younger than himself - not enough to be scandalous, but it might raise a few eyebrows.

_Still..._

He stabbed his last bite of pie and shoved it in his mouth, made sure he didn't have a milk mustache, and got up. He waited until Vivian had seated the next customers and the coast was clear before stepping back up to the counter.

"Forget somethin', Enos?"

He pulled two dollars from his pocket and laid them down in front of her. "Yeah, I plum-near forgot that Rosco wanted a corn-dog."

"Oh, okay," she said, easily, and picked the money up and deposited it in the cash register. "Hey Josh, I need a corn-dog!" she yelled to the pimply, freckle faced teen in the kitchen behind her before turning once more to Enos. "So...you gotta work all weekend?"

He shut out the portion of his heart that vehemently disagreed with his current plan of action and stepped closer. "Actually," he said, softly, trying his best not to fidget, "I was wonderin' if you'd like t' go see a movie tomorrow night."

She grinned shyly and glanced down quickly before looking back up at him, a warm pink coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, I'd love to, Enos."

It was in that moment when she said 'yes' without hesitation that he was reminded of every time Daisy had turned him down or, more frequently, had a good excuse why she just couldn't go out with him that week. He almost didn't know what to say.

"Great! Uh, how about I pick ya' up at five an' take ya' somewhere t' eat that doesn't serve corn-dogs?"

She laughed. "That would be absolutely wonderful."


	4. Fall from Grace

_"...__As sure as God made black and white,  
what's done in the dark will be brought to the light."_  
-Johnny Cash

* * *

Enos walked back to the station split between feeling euphoric and so guilty that he thought he might be sick to his stomach. He had, in one fell swoop, obliterated his comfort zone, and either he was going to suck it up and get used to it, or he was going to call Vivian and cancel their date...which he wouldn't do - if only because he couldn't stand to hurt people's feelings.

_"You're gonna end up an old bachelor instead of a middle-aged bachelor, idiot,"_ his better judgment whispered.

He climbed the steps back up to the station, not paying a bit of attention to his surroundings, and ran head-long into the door. Straightening his hat, he gathered his bearings and opened it up to find Rosco staring down at him from behind the booking station.

"You'd better notta scuffed my corn-dog, ya' numbskull," he griped.

Enos looked down, surveying the food in question. "Nope," he laughed, "it's still fit as a fiddle, Sheriff."

"Well, don't just stand there gawkin' at it, bring it over here."

Enos took the steps up to the raised booking station two at a time and handed Rosco his food.

His mind wandered back to his previous dilemma, namely the fallout that was going to make the rounds after the proverbial cat got let outta th' bag. Luke was gonna tease him for a month, and the ambivalence he'd get from Daisy wouldn't tell him anything about what she really thought about it. That girl! There used to be a time when he actually understood her.

Rosco yelled his name, and he blinked quickly and glanced around, realizing that he'd been staring of into space.

"Enos, I swear, you've got more bats in yer belfry than Mammoth Cave. What th' heck's wrong with you?"

Enos dropped his eyes and shifted his feet nervously. "Sorry, Sheriff, I's...just thinkin'."

Rosco rolled his eyes. "Good grief, I ain't got all day for a thought to appear in your head. Go make yourself usef-"

"I asked Vivian out," he surprised himself by interrupting.

The sheriff stopped, staring dumbfounded at his deputy. "That cute thing down at th' Busy Bee?"

"Um hmm."

For the first time Enos could remember, a genuine smile appeared on Rosco's face. "Well...good for you, Enos," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "'Bout time you stopped pinin' over Daisy Duke. Now... I want _ya'_ t' go out an' patrol down Eagle Rock t'day - "

"Eagle Rock! Sheriff, there ain't nobody out there but cows," he complained.

Rosco shook his fist at him. "Now, Enos, don't you give me no lip or you'll find yourself workin' twenty-four-seven down there in th' Records Room with th' spid-"

Screeching tires outside the station caught them both by surprise. The argument over patrolling forgotten, Enos crossed the foyer to the window and peered out. In front of the station were two Georgia State Patrol squad cars and a black Plymouth which, though Enos couldn't see it's plates, smacked of government issue. Automatically, he wondered what Mr. Hogg had gotten himself into this time and thinking it must be pretty bad for the State to get involved. That man was gonna wind up in the clink sure as shootin' if he didn't stop skirting the law. One day it would all catch up with him, and Enos just hoped he didn't get caught up in the mess whenever it went down.

"Uh, Sheriff...I think Mr. Hogg's been gettin' himself into trouble again."

He had never been so wrong in all his life...

Forever after, he would remember the sound of the metal blinds smacking against the glass of the door as it was thrown open, the warm heat of the summer's day as it radiated though the room, and the confused look in Rosco's eyes as two State Troopers, guns drawn, moved between himself and the Sheriff. Another officer moved in front of the door, blocking the exit, as it swung shut behind him. An older man in a dress shirt and tie approached Enos, holding up a badge.

"Benjamin Enos Strate?"

He hesitated upon hearing his full name. "Y...Yes sir?" he replied, confused.

"I'm Special Agent Wilburn of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation," the man said, pocketing his badge once more. "Mr. Strate, turn around slowly and place your hands against the wall. You're under arrest for the murder of Darcy Kincaid."

_"What?"_ Enos' eyes shot to Rosco who looked just as bewildered as himself before turning back to the detective. "Sir, that joke ain't funny."

"I assure you, it's no joke, Mr. Strate. I'm going to ask you one last time to turn around or I'll have the officers use force. Your choice, deputy, an' I'd take the first one."

Obediently, Enos turned around, his hands shaking as they touched the cool plaster of the wall. "Listen now, y'all've got your wires crossed or somethin'!" he pleaded. "Sheriff, what's goin' on?"

"I...I don't know..." His voice sounded far away to Enos, muffled as though speaking through a long tunnel. "Just...just do what he says. We'll get to th' bottom of it."

Agent Wilburn removed Enos' revolver from it's holster and his gun belt as he patted him down. "Do you have any other weapons on you other than your sidearm?"

"No sir." Fear, like a black-winged demon settled over him, sucking the strength from his limbs, and he fought to keep the lightheadedness at bay. His mind raced through his past, dredging up the last memory he had of Darcy Kincaid_._ It had been two years ago, right before that womanizing snake had left Hazzard for parts unknown.

He winced as Agent Wilburn pulled his arms behind him to handcuff him, the edges of the cold metal biting sharply into his wrists.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law..."

The blood rushing in his ears drowned out the words which Enos himself had spoken hundreds of times.

"...Do you understand?"

He nodded.

Wilburn's hand closed firmly around his upper arm, pulling him towards the door, and he threw a last, desperate look back at Rosco. There was only one person he trusted to make heads or tails out of what was happening to him.

"Sheriff!" he pleaded, "Call Uncle Jesse for me..."

* * *

Not many people had ventured out of their businesses because of the heat, but it was lunch time and so Hazzard Square was far from empty. Enos felt their eyes upon him as he was led down the steps towards the street and the waiting patrol cars. His instinct was to bow his head - to try and shield himself from their scrutiny, but he'd been a cop long enough to know that was the purpose of a 'perp walk' - to make the person feel ashamed of what they'd done.

He hadn't done anything wrong, and he wasn't about to make himself look guilty, so he stared straight ahead, resolved to ignore their attention. They'd figure this all out soon and everyone would have a good laugh over it.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the sidewalk, and one of the State Troopers opened the back door of his car and motioned for Enos to get inside.

With a last look behind him, he ducked his head and slid into the backseat of the cruiser. Prickles of cold sweat began with the slamming of the door and the sudden realization that he had no idea where they were taking him. Hazzard County had a jail, and by all rights he should be _there_ unless they were saying the crime happened elsewhere. He'd always tried to keep up on his basic knowledge of criminal law, and he'd passed that course with flying colors in the Academy, but that had been over thirteen years ago.

The State Trooper got behind the wheel and Agent Wilburn sat down in the passenger's seat. Enos felt the engine roar to life beneath him.

"I'd be much obliged if you'd tell me where we're goin', sir."

Wilburn flipped down the sun visor in front of him and opened the mirror, tilting it down until he could see behind him. "The District Attorney thought there might be a conflict of interest holding you in Hazzard County, not to mention its past security issues," he explained, "so the judge remanded you to Fulton County."

_"What!.? _You're takin' me to _Fulton County?"_

If everything else so far had seemed like some crazy blunder, the man's words jolted him back to reality. Whatever this was was for real then, and it was dang serious. The Fulton County Jail was the other side of the spectrum from Hazzard or even the larger jail in Capitol City. He'd heard more than enough stories through the grapevine about life inside it's walls.

The scenery sped by as the patrol car left Hazzard Square and turned onto Highway 36 East. "I still don't understand how I'm mixed up in this," Enos told them again, "I ain't seen Darcy since he left Hazzard two years ago, much less done anything t'_harm_ th' guy."

Agent Wilburn turned around in the seat to face him, a genial look on his face that Enos suspected was only there to make him feel like talking. "Why don't ya' tell me what you know about Mr. Kincaid."

Enos shrugged. "We went t' school t'gether, but he was a grade above me so I didn't know him real well. He operated Hazzard's airport, an' did all th' crop dustin' 'till he moved away a couple years ago."

Agent Wilburn scribbled something in the notepad Enos now saw he was holding, and then looked back at him, his eyes sharp and knowing. "So...you never had an occasion to pull him over?"

Enos laughed, nervously. "Well, sure, I guess so. I mean, most drivers speed once in a while, I reckon. I'm sure I probably wrote him a ticket or two over th' last dozen years." He felt a cautious relief that perhaps they were just suspicious of a ticket he had written him, not that he would know _why_, but that didn't explain why they'd arrested him for murder.

"What about out at Hickory Ridge? You ever pull him over _there _for speeding?"

Enos frowned_. _"Do you have a copy of th' arrest warrant?" he asked, instead.

Agent Wilburn took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it up for Enos to read. Emblazoned across the top were the words "Criminal Arrest Warrant", his full name, and some gobbledy-gook about Affidavits that he didn't understand. Underneath, it read:

**_Personally appeared before me, the undersigned Prosecutor...states that on the 25th of March, 1983, the above named person did commit the offense of CAPITAL MURDER in violation of O.C.G.A. 16-5-1(c) in Hazzard County, Georgia, and against Darcy Evan Kincaid, the victim, and against the laws of the State of Georgia.  
The facts upon which this affidavit for arrest is based are as follows:  
On the night of March 25th, 1983, at the location known provincially as Hickory Ridge, Deputy Strate did unlawfully, feloniously, and maliciously cause great bodily harm to Darcy Kincaid with intent to kill.  
Records show blood was present on the front right quarter panel, grill, bumper, and headlight assembly of 1978 Dodge Monaco VIN# WH45J8A108080, assigned to Deputy Strate and in use by the County of Hazzard, Georgia, on said date given._**

Enos fell back against the hard, vinyl seat, even more confused. He _did_ remember that night...but he hadn't laid a finger on Darcy, just talked to him. The blood was from a deer he'd hit on his way back to the station. Somehow something had gotten horribly twisted together.

Suddenly, Hazzard County – and hope - seemed a very long ways away.


	5. Stranger in a Strange Land

_"There is no safety this side of the grave."_  
― Robert Heinlein

* * *

"Well, _somethin'_ ain't right," muttered Bo, as he turned the General Lee down the gravel drive to the Duke Farm.

Uncle Jesse waited for them just beyond the porch, and all three cousins immediately thought of date nights they had come home late...or not at all. Similar times when their uncle would be there waiting to talk to them when they arrived. He waited impatiently for them to climb out of the car.

"Where in tarnation have you three been? he complained, "I've been tryin' to get hold of y'all. Ain't you been listenin' to th' CB?"

Bo shot Luke a quick look as they followed Uncle Jesse back up the steps and into the kitchen. "You know, Luke, I bet I forgot t' turn it back on after we got all that whinin' around th' radio towers up around Chalk Hills."

Luke was more concerned with the expression on his uncle's face and the urgency in his voice. "What's wrong, Uncle Jesse?"

"Some dang-blasted State cops done gone an' arrested Enos for somethin', that's what!"

"Arrested Enos!" Daisy's mind went back to the bank robbery he had been set up for earlier that year. "Surely they aren't still thinking Enos had somethin' t' do with th' bank! That was months ago an' they already got th' guys who did it."

Her uncle shook his head. "I don't know what it is, baby, only that they walked him out of th' station about half an hour ago."

Bo looked startled. "Say, Luke, you don't think it could have somethin' t' do with those men out at Hickory Ridge, do ya'?"

"Could be," he agreed, "they did ask us where they could find Enos."

Uncle Jesse, who hadn't heard about anything happening out at Hickory Ridge, was about to ask Luke what he meant, but stopped short at the flash of fury in Daisy's eyes.

"Well, I'm not gonna stand here an' wait around to hear somethin'!" she snapped, "I'm gonna go talk to Rosco." She picked up the keys to Dixie from the counter and headed towards the door. "If he and Boss've done somethin' t' get Enos in trouble, they're not gonna get away with it!"

She pulled open the kitchen door – and nearly plowed into Rosco who was just about to knock. Her eyes met his, and in an instant she knew that, whatever had happened, Rosco hadn't been responsible. Her anger fell flat, replaced with worry. The only other time she'd seen the Sheriff this upset was the time he thought he'd drowned Bo and Luke in the pond while chasing the General Lee. He held his hat in his hands, wringing the brim convulsively, struggling with what to say.

"Rosco?"

"Daisy," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Daisy...may I...may I come in?"

She didn't move. "Rosco," she whispered, "what's goin' on?"

He took a deep breath. "I'll tell y'all what I know, but it ain't much." He stared mournfully at her. "Daisy, now...I know you think I'm hard on him, an' I _am_, but...but that don't mean I...it don't mean I don't care 'bout him, too."

She looked down, away from his weary, haunted eyes, and stepped to the side of the door. "I know that, Rosco. Come on in."

* * *

It was early afternoon by the time the car pulled up in front of the massive seven-story detention center with it's rosy colored brick facade, rising like an obelisk in the cloudless sky. It's semi-circular arched entrance reminded Enos of a tombstone, a talisman to all who entered it's portals.

He'd been to the Fulton County Jail once – 15 years ago when it was located on Jefferson Street, but that was only for training while at the Academy. The guards had paraded them though the halls, to a chorus of cat-calls from the inmates of "piglets" as well as other, nastier overtures, to give them a sense of the atmosphere inside what had once been Atlanta's largest prison. He'd gotten enough of a taste to know that he didn't want to work there.

Staring up at the monolith, the instinct to run was so strong that he unconsciously pulled back against the officer who was leading him inside. Fingers dug painfully into his bicep as the officer leaned closer to him.

"Go ahead an' run," he murmured, "I always wanted t' beat down a crooked cop."

Enos held his tongue, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other lest he trip and fall and the guy think he was trying to pull something.

_24 hours_, he told himself. They could only hold him 24 hours without formally charging him with a crime before they'd have to let him go. Were they hoping he would crack and spill some sordid tale of a murder he knew nothing about?

He was led in through a set of double steel and glass doors to a booking room twice the size of Hazzard's. It was cold - nearly thirty degrees less than the outside temperature, and a few of the people in the filing and reception area were wearing sweaters. There was an odd, clinical smell that didn't fit with what he associated with his own workplace.

Running the length of the room, dividing the outside world from the inside world was a gray, laminate counter, bare except for a few fliers declaring the woes of drinking and driving, and providing phone numbers of local bail-bondsmen. It was there the officer led him.

"Stand facing the counter," he said. "I'm going t' remove your cuffs, but if you screw with me, this is gonna get ugly real quick. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Enos concentrated on the specks in the laminated surface in front of him as the officer unlocked the cuffs, and his arms cramped painfully from their previously restricted movement.

"Place your hands on the counter and move your feet back two steps," the man directed him. "Do you have any weapons or drugs on your person?"

Enos shook his head. "No sir." He gritted his teeth as the officer thoroughly patted him down and then searched his pockets. A receipt from the Busy Bee, crumpled and forgotten, landed before him on the counter, along with 67 cents in change, his badge, two pens, his belt, and his wallet.

"Now, I'm gonna do you a favor, Strate," the officer said, lowering his voice. "since I don't particularly like cleaning blood an' dead bodies outta th' holding cell. I'm gonna let you take off your shirt, 'cause if I stick you in there with it on, you ain't gonna last th' night."

Enos waited, unsure whether he really meant for him to take it off or not. "Sir?"

"Unbutton your shirt an' put it on th' counter, and then remove your shoes and socks and put on the slippers." A pair of cheap, white plastic, slip-on sandals landed next to him.

He did as he was told, leaving on the white undershirt he'd been wearing beneath his uniform, and then put on the plastic slippers, which made him feel even more uncomfortable and out of his element.

The woman behind the counter who had been cataloging his personal effects lay a piece of paper down in front of him. "Look through your stuff and make sure everything's on this sheet, then sign it at the bottom."

Next were fingerprints, mugshots, and various other bits of paperwork, and then the officer led him down the hall to the holding cell. Roughly three times the size of Hazzard's basement jail cells, it was nearly half full already with people in various states of sobriety and cognizance, sitting or laying on the metal benches that ringed the inside. The officer shoved him in and the door shut behind him with a resolute clang.

A few people glanced at him as he searched for an unoccupied spot amongst the benches, but for the most part everyone else there was in the same predicament and had their own problems to worry about. The only space was between a guy who seemed to have a hard time keeping himself upright and another who looked like he might fly into a rage at any moment. Enos went over next to the bars and sat down on the cold, concrete floor with his back against the wall.

Time passed slowly, and eventually he dozed off.

* * *

Anyone who didn't know the situation would have thought the Dukes gathered around Rosco humorous - as though he was a storyteller entertaining a rapt audience with tales of high adventure. They gathered around him as the sun sank lower in the sky, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"So, now, you said they subpoenaed all the accident reports last month?" asked Luke. "That doesn't make much sense."

Rosco shook his head. "It's not just accidents," he explained. "Every time somethin' happens to one of th' cars, we've gotta write it up." He glared back at Bo and Luke. "I oughta know. You boys is responsible for my sore typin' fingers."

Luke brushed him aside. "We're talkin' about Enos, not about us. Get on with it."

"Well, see, I wouldn't've remembered about it at all, 'cept Enos was actin' squirrelier than usual that night. He came back from patrol early, with blood on his shirt an' face, an' the right side of his car looked like he'd hit a big, damn elephant with it."

Uncle Jesse leaned forward, his expression hard. "What are you sayin', Rosco? That you think he actually _did_ this?" Clearly he wasn't impressed by the implication.

"Now, Jesse, I ain't sayin' nothin' like that. Fact is, he told me out-right that he'd hit a deer over by Hickory Ridge, and he'd gotten outta th' car to try and find it, but it'd run off. I just figured th' blood was from brushin' up against his car, 'cause there was plenty of it on _that_. A couple of detectives came an' asked me a week or so about it, but I thought they was with th' insurance company or somethin'. I swear, Jesse, I didn't know they was after Enos."

Daisy heard little of what was being said, still trying to come to grips with the fact that Enos had been arrested and accused of killing Darcy. There were so many things wrong with that supposition, she didn't know where to begin.

First off, Enos would never kill anybody – of that she was 100% immutably convinced. No how, no way – never. Period. Second, _Darcy_? Not that there was much love lost between the two guys, but Enos usually steered clear of the airport or anywhere else he was libel to meet up with him. Besides, Darcy'd left Hazzard two years ago. He'd even written her a letter...

"Rosco," she said, interrupting whatever it was Bo had been saying, "What was th' date that they're sayin' Enos did...that?"

The sheriff took his copy of the warrant back out of his pocket and glanced over it. "March 25, 1983."

Daisy jumped up and disappeared into her room, leaving everyone to wonder what she was up to. Minutes later, she returned, a triumphant smile on her face, as she waved an envelope at Rosco.

"Look here," she said, stabbing her finger at the top of the letter, "Darcy sent me this letter an' it's postmarked th' 10th of April. He couldn't have been dead on th' 25th of March, not if he was around t' send me a letter!"

Rosco took the envelope from her hand and inspected it, looking confused. "You oughta let th' GBI know about this," he said, passing it back to her. "They'll prob'ly want th' original, though, so I'd copy it down if you wanna keep it."

Daisy murmured an affirmative under her breath and got up to find a pen and paper. No sooner had she finished quickly jotting it down than they heard tires on the gravel outside. She folded the copy of the letter and shoved it into her pocket as she went to the window.

"Y'all, we've got company," she called back into the living room. "There's a State Patrol car and one a' those guys we saw out at th' Ridge today!"

Rosco looked around anxiously, but it was too late to escape notice. They would have already seen his patrol car outside.

There was a knock at the door, and Daisy opened it to see a tall, middle-aged man with dark hair and gray eyes.

"Afternoon, ma'am, I'm Agent Stewart with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Is there a Daisy Duke here?"

* * *

"_Strate!_"

Enos jerked awake to the incessant pounding of a metal nightstick against the iron bars he was leaning against. "Get your ass up! There's plenty of time for sleepin' later."

He looked around, disoriented.

"Strate! On your feet. _Now_!"

He scrambled to his feet and walked over to where the officer waited for him at the entrance of the holding cell. Tthe crick in his neck suggested he had been out for at least an hour or two, though he thought it was probably longer. It wasn't unheard of to wait 12 hours or more to be booked and processed into Georgia's larger prisons.

The officer directed him back through the large intake room from earlier and down the adjacent hall to another door to a large bathroom area with shower heads at one end, and where over a dozen other men waited, most slouched against the far wall. He handed Enos a small, navy blue duffel bag and motioned for him to take a spot with the others.

"Listen up!" the officer shouted, his voice echoing off the brick walls, "You're gonna strip an' put your clothes into the bag, then find a shower. Use two pumps of the louse shampoo. We don't like creepy crawlies in here."

Several of them, Enos included, hesitated.

"You're either gonna do it yourself, or I'll have the other officers do it for you," he warned. "Make it easy for yourself now, or I can promise you it'll get worse than this."

Biting back his embarrassment, Enos did as he was told, trying to pretend he was back at the Academy after gym. It wasn't as if he hadn't showered with a bunch of guys before.

But it wasn't that, he thought, as the officers cut the water and lined them, naked and dripping, back up along the wall. It was the sterile, cold room, the white walls, and the officers looking you over to see if you might have something hidden somewhere the sun didn't shine. It was humiliating – just like it was meant to be.

The officers handed each of them a set of underwear, socks, navy blue pants, and a short sleeved, navy blue, button up shirt with the words "Fulton County Jail, Atlanta, GA" printed in white block letters across the back.

"Get dressed, then turn around and face the wall."

Enos pulled on the scratchy clothes and turned around, resting his forehead against the bricks. _"Oh God, please let me wake up,"_ he prayed, silently. _"Please let this all be a dream..._


	6. Half Truths, Partial Lies

_A/N:_ _Please note, if you'd like to read more about the events from Daisy and Enos' past, you can find them in the backstory, **The Story of Us,** which can be found under my profile._

___Andersonville Prison: A confederate prison in Andersonville, Georgia, during the Civil War, known for its atrocious conditions. Over 45,000 union soldiers died there of disease and starvation alone._

_The descriptions of the Fulton County Jail have been taken from eyewitness accounts and from class action lawsuits filed in 1982, 1999, and 2004 concerning conditions, overcrowding, and abuse, as well as other various sources. For the purposes of this story, I will be using the newer facility, built in 1985. _

* * *

_"I would do anything for love...but I won't do **that**."_  
_-Meat Loaf_

* * *

For a moment, Daisy could only stare at the detective standing outside the door, startled to hear him ask for her specifically. His face was pale from being indoors for long stretches of time, and she knew without really knowing that he wasn't from the country. "Uh...yes sir, I'm Daisy Duke," she replied.

"Miss Duke, would you mind if I came in? I have some questions to ask you related to the disappearance of Darcy Kincaid."

She briefly wondered what he would say if she said, 'no'. "Sure, come on in," she answered politely, instead. "Can I get you some coffee?"

He smiled at her offer but shook his head. "No thanks, ma'am, I've had enough cups already."

Uncle Jesse and the boys entered the kitchen, her uncle coming to stand beside her.

"I'm Jesse Duke," he said, holding out his hand to the man. "I'm Daisy's uncle."

"Agent Stewart with the GBI," the agent replied, shaking his hand. "Sir, I'm goin' to need to speak with your niece alone for a moment, if you don't mind. Is there somewhere we can do that?"

"Why don't we just go out to th' porch," said Daisy, gesturing to the kitchen door. "That way we won't be in everyone's way."

"That'll be fine, ma'am."

He followed her out, the screen door whacking the frame with a loud smack as it closed. Daisy wiped her sweaty hands against her jeans before taking a seat on the porch swing, and Agent Stewart picked up one of the wooden chairs and set it down a reasonable distance in front of her. Close, but not quite invading her personal space.

"I see th' Sheriff's been here, so I'll expect you have some idea what's going on," he began. "but in case you don't, we're investigating the disappearance and possible death of Darcy Kincaid on the night of March 25, 1983.

"Possible?" Daisy grabbed at the word like a drowning man grabs at a life preserver. "So there's a chance it wasn't him you found?"

He shook his head. "It's just preliminary caution. The remains were found with his identification."

Her heart sank back down. "Oh."

"Miss Duke, I know you were close to both the victim and the suspect, but we'll start with Mr. Kincaid. I understand you had dated him in the past?"

She tried to focus on Darcy, a man she'd harbored no deeper thoughts about for years other than a passing wonder of where he might have run off to. Her mind caught instead on the word he'd used for Enos – _the suspect._ Impersonal and cold.

"Uh, well, we went out a couple of times," she answered.

He scribbled on his notepad and looked back up at her. "How would you categorize your relationship with him?"

Her relationship with Darcy... She knew exactly how she would categorize it, but it sounded...well, it wouldn't help Enos' case at all.

Agent Stewart noticed her hesitation. "Miss Duke, I need to remind you that because of your relationship to both parties, you'll be subpoenaed to testify in court. Lying to me or omitting anything that you feel could be relevant to the case could land you in jail yourself on a perjury charge."

"Darcy wasn't really a one woman guy, if you know what I mean."

The truth of it was, she'd only been going out with Darcy at the time because she'd been upset at Enos. Perhaps it wouldn't have been considered a "fight" by anyone else's definition, but it was as close to fighting as she and Enos had ever been, brought about by yet another instance of him helping Boss and Rosco in charging her cousins with something they hadn't done.

_"It's my job, Daisy,"_ he'd told her, remorsefully. _"I don't like it, but I gotta follow orders."_

His reply had only served to make her mad._ "You know good an' well all th' charges against them are just made up outta Boss' head,"_ she'd told him._ "You're just as bad as they are for goin' along with 'em!"_

She remembered the flash of anger in his eyes at her implication. _"Unless you haven't noticed,"_ he'd said, "_I ain't in charge around here!"_

She'd given him some flippant answer in return, something about telling her when he decided whose side he was on and stormed off. That had been the limit of their conversation on the subject, and she'd called up Darcy the next day and asked him out, knowing he was the one person in town Enos couldn't stand.

Enos, for his part, had tried to make it up to her. A couple weeks later, he'd given up Boss and Rosco's plans to smuggle that Russian girl out of the county to them. She didn't think she would ever forget his words as he was leaving Cooter's garage – they may have been directed at everyone, but his eyes were on hers, full of meaning.

_"I guess y'all know I love you very much,"_ he'd said, _"but if y'all are gonna help that girl, please don't tell me how or I'll be duty-bound to try an' stop ya'."_

She should've let it go at that, but her pride seemed to be stuck in the way. It wasn't until she'd gotten the letter from Darcy, telling her he was cheating on her and that he was leaving Hazzard, that she'd been knocked down off her pedestal.

Agent Stewart seemed to be momentarily content with her answer. "Let's talk about Deputy Strate," he continued. "how long have you known him?"

Daisy laughed. "Since I was born? Honestly, his father and Uncle Jesse were such good friends, I can't remember a time when I _didn't_ know him."

"You were close, then?"

"Yeah...we were," she said, with some measure of regret in her voice. "He was like a brother to me growin' up."

More notes were written down. "So what happened between the two of you?"

"Sorry?"

"You don't sound very close anymore."

"Oh..." She shrugged. "I don't know. He went away to the Police Academy, an' we just... I guess we just grew apart." It had been so long ago, so much water under that bridge.

"Did you ever date Deputy Strate?"

_Date..._? "I wouldn't exactly call it dating," she said, "more just going the same places together. Nothing really clicked between us. He's really shy about things like that."

Agent Stewart raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly one of disbelief. "Rumor has it you two are practically engaged," he said. "Sounds pretty intimate to me."

Daisy rubbed unconsciously at her arms. "It's complicated."

He smiled. "I'm not in a hurry."

* * *

Being in the Fulton County Jail was like being in a box of sardines - little metal boxes, stacked one on top of the another, stuffed with too many people. The facility, which was built to house 1,375 inmates, had a population of over 2,700, jammed together two and three deep in cells originally meant for only one.

After another two hours of sitting around for no apparent reason, Enos was given a roll consisting of a thin mattress, blanket, sheet, pillow, an inmate handbook, and a box of basic hygiene products, and shuffled up to the second level of Block C on the seventh floor, situated around a large, open dining area.

This building was just over a year old, but if he'd of been blindfolded, it could have been Andersonville. The smell was putrid and festering – not the sharp, antiseptic scent from the booking room, but one of sweat, filth, and human waste. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, repeating his silent mantra that it was only until things got straightened out. Two guards escorted him to cell 201, and the door slammed shut behind him with a final metallic clang, sealing him in alone with his new roommate.

There was a bunk bed of sorts against the left side of the cell - more like two wide metal shelves, the bottom one a scant six inches from the floor and the top one anchored about three feet above it.

A shirtless man leaned back against the wall on the top bunk, reading a magazine. His stringy, shoulder length, dishwater blond hair fell past his shoulders, and his chest and arms were covered with so many tattoos it was hard to tell where one started and another ended. He glanced at Enos, in acknowledgement of his presence, and then continued his reading. It was just as well to Enos, he didn't really feel like chatting.

He unrolled his mattress onto the empty bottom bunk and sat down, his brain replaying the events of the day over and over, wondering how in the world he was ever going to get out of this mess.

Did anyone even know where he was? He'd been too shell-shocked to ask about a phone call. He thought about Rosco, about the HazzardNet that surely must be rife with speculation by now, about Uncle Jesse, and of course, about Daisy.

What would she think? Surely she knew he'd never kill anyone - no matter _how_ it looked. Were they questioning her? What would she tell them? He would never ask her to lie for him, but just the fact that she had dated Darcy to get back at himself didn't exactly go very far in proving his innocence.

A metallic bang on the door scattered his thoughts, and a voice from the other side shouted, "Monroe, move back to the rear of the cell. Strate, come and stand with your back facing the door."

The man on the bunk above him groaned and climbed down. "Y'ain't been in here for an hour, an' they're already comin' for ya'?" he asked. "They must want you bad."

A guard's face appeared in the window, watching them, and Enos went over and stood with his back to the door, waiting for it to open. There was a jingle, a scraping sound, and then a pop as the lock shot back in the frame. Behind him the door slid open.

"Hands behind your back."

He moved his hands behind him and felt the metal of the cuffs close around his wrists. The guard led him backwards out of the cell and re-closed the self-locking door. There were no words spoken as he led Enos down the stairs and through the prison's drab, endless maze of hallways to a door marked "Interrogation Room 3". Once inside, the officer closed the door, removed Enos' cuffs and motioned for him to take a seat in the plastic chair at the end of the table before he himself moved to stand beside the door.

The room was small and unadorned, consisting of an eight foot long table – the kind with fake, brown, wood-grained laminate on top, and Enos found himself contemplating why exactly the manufacturer went to the trouble- surely no one would be fooled into thinking it was actually wood. There were two other chairs in the room, both near the far end of the table, and set into the wall was a two-way mirror. He wondered who was watching from the other side.

Minutes ticked by, turning to more minutes, and stretching into at least fourty-five of them in Enos' estimation, though he had no watch or clock to go by. Finally the door opened and the man he recognized as Agent Wilburn from the GBI walked in, along with another detective who looked as though he might single-handedly keep the local dough-nut shop in business.

Wilburn pulled out the chair at the end of the table, across from Enos, while the other man pulled the second chair around to the side closer to him. It's metal legs groaned under its new burden.

"I'm sure you remember me from before." said Wilburn. He motioned to the second detective. "This is Agent Roper. We'd like to ask you a couple more questions, if we could Mr. Strate, clear up a couple things. Would that be okay?"

"Possum on a gumbush!," said Enos, relieved, "there sure is a lot that needs clearin' up. I ain't done a lick of what's in that arrest warrant you had."

"Well, that's why we're here, Deputy, to get to the bottom of whatever it is that happened. Now, Benjamin...do you go by Benjamin or your middle name?'

"Enos, sir."

"Alright then, Enos. First off, why don't you tell us about the last time you saw Darcy Kincaid."

Enos' fingers tapped restlessly against the laminate. "Uh, well, it was out at Hickory Ridge, sir, the same night as you're sayin' he was murdered, but last time I saw him he was fine."

"So you followed Darcy's car up to there and pulled him over."

"No sir, Darcy's car was already parked up there," he explained. "I just pulled over t' see what was goin' on."

"So...what happened then? You get in a fight with him?"

Enos shook his head. "No, we didn't fight." He looked the detective straight in the eye. "I didn't lay a finger on him."

"You didn't like Darcy much, did you, Enos?" asked, Agent Roper.

He shrugged. "He wasn't a close friend of mine, no." Enos' mind played over their leading questions, wondering what the punch line was.

"In fact, he was dating your former girl-friend-" he glanced down at his clipboard "- a Daisy Duke, at the time of his disappearance. Isn't that true?"

The room seemed to grow colder at the mention of her name, and suddenly he understood what they were getting at. "That wasn't my business, sir" he said, carefully. They'd want him to say something about being jealous - about being upset about her dating him.

"But you _made _it your business, didn't you? When you beat him down and ran over him with your squad car."

"I didn't do any of that!" he yelled.

Agent Wilburn tapped on the notepad, and leaned forward. "We've got a witness who says differently."

"Then somebody's lyin' - an' it ain't me!" He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Now look, fellas, I know y'all've got a job t' do, an' I'm sure ya'll are real good at it most days, but th' fact is you're just plain wrong about everything here."

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" he asked, glaring back at Enos. "From where I'm sittin', things smell awful rotten. They're gonna dredge the bottom of that lake at th' base of Stillson Canyon tomorrow, Deputy. I'm bettin' on them pullin' out a 1968 Dodge Dart, whatta you think?"

"I think I'd best talk to a lawyer 'fore you boys string me up for somethin' I didn't do."

The agents glanced quickly at each other and Enos could tell from their expressions and body language that they weren't happy.

"Alright, Mr. Strate," Agent Wilburn replied, getting up from his chair, "but it'd go a lot easier on you if you just tell us th' truth."

* * *

Daisy gave Agent Stewart a brief run-down of what had happened earlier that spring – the reasoning behind her and Enos' impromptu, almost, some-what of a wedding. It sounded even worse, trying to explain everything to a total stranger.

"So, let me make sure I'm understanding," he said, after she had finished. "When you heard that Deputy Strate had been arrested because of something you had witnessed, your first impulse was to _marry_ him?"

She blushed, embarrassed at having never considered any other alternatives. "Well, I knew he was innocent," she argued, "Enos would never do something like that."

"Did you ever tell him that you were marrying him to keep from testifying against him?"

"He had his suspicions," she said quietly, ashamed as she remembered the pain on Enos' face when the detective had called her out on it that day in front of him.

The man shook his head, obviously not understanding. "Alright. We'll come back to that. Tell me about Deputy Strate's relationship with Mr. Kincaid."

Daisy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "They usually weren't around each other."

"Would you say Deputy Strate was friendly towards him?"

"Enos didn't...he didn't approve of Darcy's, uh, philandering," she said, "an', I reckon Darcy's always been kind of a jerk to him."

The agent stopped writing and looked back up at her. "It couldn't have been easy for Enos then," he said, "knowing you were dating him."

Daisy sighed. She wasn't good at this questioning business, and she had the sinking suspicion that Agent Stewart was reading far more between the lines than she had intended him to. "No," she answered, softly, "I suppose it wasn't."

"Were you dating Darcy at the time of his disappearance?"

"Yes, but -"

Suddenly, Daisy understood exactly where his questions were leading. In _his_ mind, Enos was a scorned lover who'd killed Darcy in a fit of jealous rage.

She stood up, her eyes cold as she stared the detective down. "I know where this is going, an' I ain't gonna sit here while you insinuate that Enos killed Darcy 'cause he was jealous of him! Y'all aren't from Hazzard, you don't even know him! Enos wouldn't hurt a fly!"

Agent Stewart stood up with her, and placed his hand against the door, keeping her from storming back into the house. "Miss Duke, I'm sure this is hard for you to hear. In the last few hours, you've learned that one of your friends is dead and another friend is in custody. I don't expect for you to be happy about that, but you need to understand that not telling me all the facts will only make Mr. Strate look guilty. The sooner we can get to the bottom of what really happened, the sooner he'll be released."

Daisy put her hands on her hips, and as she did so, her fingers touched the top of the copy she had made of Darcy's letter, reminding her of it. "Oh! The letter! ...I have a letter that I got from Darcy a week after y'all are saying he died! That means he couldn't have been dead _then_, doesn't it? It even talks about him leaving Hazzard."

The man took his hand off the door frame. "Do you have the letter now?"

"Yep, I sure do – right in the kitchen, in the envelope and everything!" She opened the door and went inside, snatching the letter off the table and brandishing it at the Agent. "There!" she said, pointing to the postmark. "That means Enos couldn't have done anything to him on the night you're saying he did."

The man examined the envelope, then removed the letter and read over it. Daisy knew it's words by heart:

_Dear Daisy,_  
_Writing this is so difficult because right now all I want to do is hold you in my arms and look into your eyes. You know, as well as I do, that nothing is permanent, and I'm afraid I have led you into believing that we could have something together that we can't. I have confessions to make, and even though I know it is cowardly to say them here in writing instead of face to face, I'm afraid my resolve to do the right thing would fall in the shadow of your pretty face._  
_I have not been true to you. There – I've said it. I have never been true to any woman my entire life, and it would be naive to think that I ever could. I must be an idiot, because what man in his right mind wouldn't be contented beyond measure to claim that you were his? I feel blessed that you have shared your time with me, but my heart is never at rest._  
_By the time you read this, I will have left Hazzard. I wish you all the love that you deserve._

_Sincerely, Darcy_  
_-Your Grasshopper_

The agent finished reading and glanced back up at her. "I'm going to need to keep this for evidence," he said, refolding it and placing it back in it's envelope. "Do you need to make a copy of it?"

She patted her pocket. "Nope, I already did. So, with the letter, you can't say Enos had anything to do with this. It's clear Darcy just left town. Probably it's a drifter or someone y'all found out on the Ridge."

"It's not that easy, Miss Duke. The District Attorney will determine if there's enough evidence to charge him before his arraignment hearing. Until then, he's being held in Fulton County, I believe, and you can call them for a visitation schedule." He smiled sadly at her, with genuine sympathy. "I'm real sorry, ma'am, but I'm just doin' my job."

"I know you are," she sulked, "but it still ain't right."


	7. This Tangled Web We Weave

_A/N: WARNING: T for language. I apologize ahead of time for Darcy's lack of 'tactful' language..._

* * *

_"They say "freak" when you're singled out.  
The red, it filters through."  
-Chevelle_

* * *

As the lights went out in his cell that night, Enos lay staring up into the darkness, his mind far away from Atlanta. With all his heart, he tried to imagine not the bottom of the bunk above him nor concrete walls around him, but an endless expanse of sky on a cloudy, overcast, starless night.

He'd spent many of those type of nights outside, camping out up in the hills to go fishing at the crack of dawn, listening to the coyotes calling from over the ridge and the drone of the June-bugs and cicadas. It was the latter thought that did him in and plucked at the seams of his fantasy – he was surrounded, not so much by a lack of sound, but by a lack of _proper _sounds. It was far from quiet. Even inside the cell, he could hear the urgent whispers of inmates talking under their doors, the subtle tapping of Morse code against the plumbing pipes, and the creak and groan of metal as the prison settled, like an old house, into its foundation.

He'd screwed up.

He _had -_ and as much as his initial mistake would have garnered nothing but a stern warning from Rosco himself, it now loomed larger than life before his sightless eyes. There had been _one_ time, and only once in his career- that he'd gone against protocol. Maybe it had been pride, maybe it _had_ been jealousy like those detectives thought, or maybe he had honestly been trying to protect the woman he loved. Whatever the true reason, it little mattered now.

The night of March 25th, 1983, he may have worn the badge of a Deputy Sheriff on his chest - but he'd looked at Darcy Kincaid through the eyes of a Ridge-runner's son...

_March 25, 1983_

_Enos drove though the quiet back-country of Hazzard County, the full-moon casting ominous shadows though the trees and down upon the hard-pack. A "shine-moon", he thought, and though he was long removed from the life he'd known as a boy, he still felt the unconscious thrill of anticipation borne out by so many nights like this one where his father would drop him off overnight at the Duke Farm before a boot-legging run._

_It was likely to be a quiet night – as nearly every night was in Hazzard, especially this far out into the country. There was occasionally a domestic dispute in town to unravel and break up, or perhaps a good-ol' boy who'd had a few too many at the Boar's Nest and needed a lift home, but for the moment, life was quiet and peaceful, just how he liked it._

_In the absence of much of a job to do, his mind wandered as he drove, pondering over the seemingly unending problem in his own life, namely what he was going to do to get back in Daisy's good graces. It had been nearly three months since their argument, when she'd given him an ultimatum to choose whether he was on Mr. Hogg and Rosco's side or whether he was on the Dukes' side._

_In hind-sight, he should have been more diplomatic about it, should have changed the subject or made some excuse to get away from her before it ever got to that point...but he hadn't. If it was one thing he and Daisy had never agreed on, it was where that invisible line should be drawn between his duty as a police officer and his background as the son of a Ridge-runner._

_He'd gotten upset, which he shouldn't have, but she didn't seem to understand that it was hard for him, too. He couldn't afford to lose his job – not because of the money, but because he had sworn a duty to protect the rest of the citizens of Hazzard County. If Mr. Hogg knew he wasn't half the idiot he played himself off as, he'd fire him in a heart-beat, and that would leave Rosco and Cletus as the only law the county had._

_To make matters worse, Daisy had starting dating Darcy again – suspiciously the only guy in Hazzard she knew he hated. Darcy had been going from one woman to the next since high school, seeing how many notches he could put in his belt. Just thinking about his hands on Daisy made Enos sick to his stomach._

_He turned off Mill Road onto the road that circumvented Stillson Canyon. It was Friday night and he figured he might check out Hickory Ridge to see if there were any kids making out up there who needed to have a good scare. He flipped off his headlights as he turned from the main road onto the trail that led out to the overlook. Ahead of him, the moonlight glinted off the rear-end of an automobile, parked at the edge of the canyon. He pulled up behind it and saw that it was a dark colored Dodge Dart._

_His heart raced in his chest, and he almost backed up and turned around because he _**_knew _**_that car. He sat there, staring at the back windshield of Darcy's vehicle, terrified that it would be Daisy inside. But...it couldn't be her, could it? He'd seen her that afternoon when he'd stopped by the Boar's Nest. She'd just started her shift which meant she wouldn't be getting home until close to midnight. He checked his watch – it was shortly after 11:00 pm._

_His fear of finding Daisy in the backseat of a car with Darcy changed to ire with the realization that he was with some other girl. As much as he hated to see him with Daisy, just knowing that he was cheating on her made him even angrier. She deserved better than that two-timing snake._

_Enos grabbed his flashlight and quietly opened his door, walking up to the car from behind. The windows were heavily fogged and some muffled sounds emanated from the back seat. He rapped on the back driver's side window three times, heard a feminine scream, and frantic rustling from within. A minute later, the window rolled down and a rather disheveled Darcy Kincaid peered out at him._

_"Well, well, if it ain't Dudley-do-right," Darcy smirked. "Why don'tcha go screw yourself, as$hole?"_

_Enos, not in the mood for Darcy's attitude, jerked open the door, spilling him out onto the ground. "Get up," he told him, "an' go stand against th' car."_

_Darcy picked himself up, brushed himself off, and sauntered back to lean against the trunk of his car. Enos shut the door and peered back in though the window where a young woman with frizzy blond hair and smeared, bright pink lipstick quickly slipped a shirt on over her head._

_"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, politely, "but I'm gonna need t' see your driver's license."_

_She nodded quickly, "Sure thing, officer. Me an' th' guy, we was just havin' a little fun, ya' know."_

_Her accent struck him as odd, more of what he would expect from back in Los Angeles._

_She rustled around in her purse and pulled out an ID, which she handed to Enos. It was two years expired, but he jotted down the name and address anyway. He had been right, she was from out west – Las Vegas, Nevada._

_"This one's expired, ma'am," he told her, "d' ya' got anything current? You sure are a long way from home."_

_She giggled and batted her eyes alluringly at him. "Sorry, sweetie, I ain't much for drivin'."_

_"Well, where're you stayin' right now?"_

_"Oh! I'm workin' at th' Gold Club down in Atlanta...we give special deals for guys in uniform," she said, with a wink._

_Contrary to popular belief, Enos hadn't been born yesterday. He'd heard plenty of stories about the Gold Club from the guys at the Academy. Enough to know the woman was a prostitute._

_"Just stay there, ma'am," he said, ignoring her comment. "I've gotta talk to Darcy."_

_He walked back to where Darcy waited at the rear of the car._

_"Makin' friends, Enos?"_

_Enos checked his attitude as much as he could. "A hooker, Darcy? Really?"_

_Darcy shrugged, "Hey, ya' don't use it, you loose it. Y'oughta try it sometime." He smiled patronizingly at him. "Oh, wait. You're savin' yourself, ain't ya'? Poor boy."_

_"If _**_I _**_had Daisy, I wouldn't _**_need _**_anyone else."_

_"Good grief, Enos, aren't you sleepin' with her _**_yet_**_?"_

_Enos bristled. "I don't reckon that's any of your business."_

_"No, I reckon you probably ain't," Darcy answered, mocking Enos' phrasing. "Don't worry, she ain't sleepin' with me, either." He frowned and seemed to consider his own words, before turning angrily on Enos. "You know why she won't? 'Cause when she's with me, she's too busy feelin' guilty about you, you ungrateful, sorry, son of a b*tch!"_

_Enos' fists clenched in rage, his fingernails digging so deep into his palms that they drew blood though he didn't feel it. "Quit talkin' about her like she's some whore!" he shouted._

_"Or what?" Darcy sneered. "You gonna fix me like ya' fixed Bobby Jenkins in high school? What'd ya' beat _**_him _**_with? A two-by-four or a crowbar?"  
He smiled as his comment stole the passion from Enos' brewing onslaught. "What?," he laughed, "You thought your little secret was safe with you? It don't take a genius t' figure out Bobby didn't get beat to a bloody pulp in a car wreck. 'Specially after I saw him followin' Daisy down to th' pond that day."_

_Fear pricked the back of Enos' mind. He'd been sixteen, and it had been the first and one of the few times he'd let his temper get the best of him. When he'd picked fourteen year old Daisy up from school that day, she'd rushed to meet him, shaken and nervous. It had taken a while to drag the truth from her - how she'd cut class to go down to the pond near the school and had only narrowly escaped being molested by the seventeen year old senior who had followed her there._

_Enos had no plans beyond finding out what had happened when he drove up into the hills to where Bobby Jenkins lived with his occasionally sober father. He'd found him around back of his house, chopping wood. As he'd watched him swing that ax down, cleaving the wood in two, something inside him had snapped._

_"It could have been Daisy," he'd thought._

_Those eyes had watched her leave the school. Those legs had followed her into the woods. Those arms had tried to hold her down._

_He couldn't remember picking up the log from the woodpile as he passed it, but he could still remember the rage with which he drove it into Bobby's side and against the guy's hands as he turned, stunned, still holding the ax._

_By the time Enos had exacted his revenge, Bobby had four broken ribs, two broken fingers, a black eye, and a collage of bruises to remember him by. The guy told everyone he'd been in a car wreck, and had never so much as _**_looked _**_at Daisy again. Last he'd heard, Bobby was serving a twenty year sentence for rape down in Jackson._

_"I ain't th' one in trouble," said Enos, focusing back on Darcy and the problem at hand. "Th' way I see it, you're in a bad way here, buddy-roe. I oughta take ya' in for soliciting prostitution. That's a felony." He bit back a smile at the alarm that flashed across Darcy's face._

_"You ain't got no proof of that," Darcy countered._

_"Well, even if it didn't stick, I can hold ya' for 24 hours on suspicion," Enos reminded him. "Course, by that time, it won't matter. Everyone in town'll know what you were doin'...includin' Daisy. Looks like you're done in Hazzard."_

_Enos and Darcy stared each other down - two opposites, completely matched._

_"What do you want?" Darcy finally whispered._

_There was only one thing Enos could think of that would cure just about every problem he'd ever had with the man in front of him – and more importantly, protect Daisy from being just another of his conquests._

_"You pack your things an' get out of Hazzard...**tonight**," he said. "__You do that, an' I won't breathe a word about this to anyone. Not even t' Daisy."_

_Enos spat into his palm and held it out. For several heartbeats, he thought Darcy was going to call his bluff, daring him to take him in - until he grimaced, spat into his own hand and sealed the deal._

_"I've been thinkin' of gettin' out of this sh*tty, pissant town for years," he said with a shrug, "might as well be tonight."_

_He had never laid eyes on Darcy again._

Eventually, Enos fell asleep, but his rest was far from peaceful. He dreamt he was trapped in a room of endless mirrors with fire raging all around him. The acrid smoke burned his lungs as he raced from hallway to hallway, pounding his fist helplessly against the glass of each dead end. Unconsciously, he rolled over, and his dream shifted – back to a nightmare he hadn't had for years now, of his father sitting on the porch while the house burned around him, his back turned to Enos who screamed for him to run.

* * *

Long after Agent Stewart had finished his interviews and Rosco had gone back to town, Daisy sat at the kitchen table, staring silently at nothing, unable to sleep. Her hands still clasped her mug of coffee, though it no longer warmed them, having gone cold some time before.

They'd grown lazy, she surmised, dealing with Boss and Rosco's never-ending schemes. It hardly seemed real anymore when Bo and Luke were arrested, and Daisy had begun long ago to harbor a sneaking suspicion that Rosco did it half for fun and the other part for boredom, knowing they'd be out on bail $50 later and cleared hours after that. Even when Enos had been arrested on suspicion of robbing Boss' bank, he'd been in _Hazzard's_ jail – safe from anyone who might seek to do him harm.

Rosco's comments about Fulton County's Jail had been short, clipped, and strained, and it hadn't taken much to read between his words. It wasn't some little country jail like Hazzard, with it's spotty detention records and free for all visitation. It was...real. Enos would be shoulder to shoulder with hardened criminals; murders, rapists, arsonists, and whoever else Atlanta had scraped off their streets.

Where was he right now? Was he sleeping on a hard, metal slab in a tiny cell? What would happen if the other inmates found out he was a police officer?

She didn't notice Uncle Jesse behind her until he laid his hand gently on her shoulder, startling her from her reverie.

"Hey, Uncle Jesse," she said, softly.

He patted her shoulder. "Y'oughta be in bed, honey. Ain't nothin' worryin' can do t'night."

"I know that. I just..." her words caught in her throat. "I just keep thinkin' about poor Enos, layin' in a dark jail cell, so far away from Hazzard. There's gotta be _somethin'_ we can do, Uncle Jesse, some way t' prove he didn't do what they're sayin' he did."

He walked around to the other side of the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. His hand reached out towards hers, and she held it, the roughness of his fingers comforting as they tightened around her own.

"I was talkin' to Rosco some more after you went out t' talk with that other fella," he said. "Even if he doesn't go to trial, it can still take a week or so to get someone out of th' bigger jails, what with all th' paperwork an' processin' that has t' go on."

"A week!" she cried. "Uncle Jesse, what if somethin' happens to him in there?"

"I don't reckon there's anything more we can do about that other'n pray about it, baby. Rosco said Fulton County has visitation on Saturday so me an' him were goin' t' go down an' talk to him. Try an' raise his spirits a little."

"I'm comin' with you, Uncle Jesse," she said, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

"I figured you probably would."


	8. Pieces of Judgement

_A/N: The Visual Guide to Halls of Stone and Iron is up! (Pics of various things that we'll be talking about.) See my profile for the link.  
_

* * *

_"__There is no client as scary as an innocent man.__"  
― Michael Connelly_

* * *

At 4:00 am, the lights clicked on, rousing Enos from his uneasy slumber, and waking him to the pain shooting through his muscles from lying on the hard, metal bunk. He sat up and rubbed at his lower back, trying to determine what would happen next. Roll call or something like it probably, then breakfast.

His cell-mate peered expectedly out the small window of the cell door and down into the common area below. His actions - the tenseness and anxiety in his posture, reminded Enos of a raccoon in a trap - pacing back and forth, waiting for the cage door to be opened.

Within a short time, the door slid to the side, and a call echoed through the cell-block to line up for morning count. Enos, unsure of the procedure and not wanting to stand out at anyone, mimicked the actions of the other man, exiting the cell to stand beside it while the guards took roll call. It was the first time Enos had witnessed the full capacity of the block – there had to be well over 200 inmates housed just in his section of the South Tower, or South Zone, alone. He surveyed their faces, noting ones that looked like they'd personally bite someone's arm off if looked at the wrong way.

The order was then given to move, and everyone turned, making their way down the metal staircases at each end of the second level to be joined by those on the lower level in line for breakfast.

The common area was roughly the size of a basketball court, filled with oddly shaped hexagonal tables of gleaming steel with attached circular seats. A strange smell emanated from the front, reminding Enos of burning tires. He lined up behind the others, his appetite diminishing the closer he got to the actual food.

Enos took his tray and sat down quietly at the end of the first table, willing himself to be as inconspicuous as he could. He poked at the gray, lumpy solid in the center, presumably meant to be oatmeal, and then opted instead for one of the cold, red potatoes on the other side of the tray. He forced himself to chew and swallow the slimy lump, remembering the creamed chipped-beef that Mr. Hogg had once bought cheap off a traveling salesman to serve as jail fodder. He pushed the tray back from him and rested his face in his hands, his elbows propped up on the table.

The other seats at the table filled quickly and soft murmurs of conversation floated around him, but he didn't look up.

"Hey fish!" a deep, gravely voice down the table from him called. "Hey, you prayin' for your momma? She ain't here."

Raucous laughter broke out as Enos looked up at the man.

"Yeah, I'm talkin' t' you, fishy! Say what's you in for?"

"I'll bet he did his wife," said another man. "Them swells like him 're always catchin' 'em in bed with th' paperboy an' then - BOOM!"

Enos pulled his tray back towards him and stabbed at the oatmeal with his plastic spoon. "I don't want any trouble," he said, quietly, looking down.

"Yeah, well you're in Fulton, boy," said the first man. " – you ain't gotta go lookin'for it, it just finds ya'!" He turned to the man beside him. "I'm bettin' on he knocked off his girlfriend. He ain't got no ring on his finger."

The men around him fell silent as a guard walked slowly over towards them. "No talkin'!" she shouted at them, before coming to a stop behind Enos. "Strate! Get up, time t' go!"

He turned around, confused. "Go where, ma'am?"

She leaned over, closer to him, her expression hard and impassive. "Did I ask you t' talk?" she screamed, a hysterical edge to her voice. "If I ask you t' talk, then you can talk. Now move your ass!"

Enos stood up with his tray, unsure of where he was supposed to go or what to do. He jumped back as the tray exploded from his hands with a slam of her nightstick, falling with a loud clatter against the table and spraying oatmeal out across it's metal surface. He stood, hands still outstretched in front of him, staring at the mess.

"You got anything else t' say to me?" She yelled.

Not daring to even say "no", Enos shook his head.

Half and hour later, he shuffled through the granite foyer of the Fulton County Courthouse in shackles, escorted by two Sheriff's Deputies. The sounds of the officer's footsteps, and the chains around his wrists and ankles echoed off the stone walls like a ghostly armada tromping it's way through some vast, underwater cavern.

"_...swish-rattle-stomp...swish-rattle-stomp.._."

He was led through a doorway simply marked "Room 103" and into a crowded waiting area filled with wooden, church-like pews, ringed with over half a dozen more police officers, where he was told to sit and wait for his name to be called.

Enos' eyes were drawn to the officers, with their crisp, clean shirts, shiny badges, and polished firearms. He missed the comforting feel of his own uniform.

_I shouldn't be here,he thought.I should be going through the morning's list of arrest warrants and fugitives, getting a cup of coffee for Rosco, and listening to Mr. Hogg count the county's money._

He'd never felt so far away from home – so out of his element. Even in Los Angeles, he'd been able to fill his time with his job, taking on extra hours when the pain of homesickness began to impinge. He'd had good friends there as well, at the Metro Squad. He sighed, wondering what Turk would say to see him now.

He was still reminiscing over LA when a young man, perhaps in his late twenties but not much older, sat down beside him.

"Mr. Strate? I'm Gary Hunsaker," he said, by way of introduction. "I'll be your Public Defender in your case. Unless you've been able to hire a private lawyer?"

"No sir," said Enos, brightening considerably. " I'm mighty obliged t' you for takin' my case."

The young man grinned. "Well, before you get too excited, I was assigned to ya', but I'll do th' best I can to see that you get a fair trial."

"Trial?" Enos had been hoping for this to be over and resolved in a couple days at the latest. "That's plum crazy. They can't hold me here without proof that I've done somethin'."

Gary looked him over with a measuring glance. "You don't get it, do you? They've got you up 'on Capital Murder charges, Mr. Strate." He paused, but Enos' face still drew a blank. "Th' state's gonna ask for th' _death penalty_ for you, for Chris-sakes, an' if they didn't have a case, you wouldn't be here getting' arraigned!"

Enos stared at the man for a moment, the horrible truth of the matter finally sinking in:

_They really, honest to God, think I've killed someone!_

The sounds of mindless chatter in the room suddenly seemed deafening, the lights too bright and blinding, He tried to brush away the cold sweat that beaded on his forehead, but his wrists were shackled to his sides. His chest felt heavy, like an invisible weight had settled on top of him, stealing his breath away as the room began to tilt oddly. He was fairly sure he needed to throw up.

"Hey, you aren't gonna faint on me, are ya'?" Gary shook his shoulder. "Hey, buddy...breathe."

Enos took a deep breath and held it, shutting his eyes against the nausea and the spinning room.

The door of the waiting area opened. "People vs. Benjamin Enos Strate," someone called.

Why did they have to keep calling him _Benjamin_? He hated that dang name. No one had ever called him that, not even his mother. Formality - that was all it was. Just a name so that he could string three of them together.

Gary shook him again. "You're up, Mr. Strate, pull yourself t'gether."

Somehow he got to his feet and followed the officer through the door into a small courtroom where he was motioned to take a seat behind the closest of two small tables in the room, the other being reserved for two men in stuffy, expensive suits. The judge watched patiently from a raised podium as he entered.

"Docket number 30176, the Honorable Judge Paul Dempsey presiding," the bailiff called out. "People vs. Benjamin Enos Strate, charged with murder and obstruction of justice."

The judge peered down at him. "Mr. Strate, as to the charges pending against you, how do you plead?"

Enos looked around, but all eyes were on him. He turned back to the judge, "Not guilty, your honor."

The judge, unsurprised, continued on. "Mr. Hunsaker, have you had the opportunity to inform Mr. Strate of the charges against him?"

"Briefly, your honor."

"Will the state please present it's evidence for the aforementioned charges at this time?"

"Yes your Honor," said one of the men behind the second table. He stood and cleared his throat. "On the night of March 25, 1983, Deputy Strate was patrolling an area of rural Hazzard County when he spotted the victim, Darcy Kincaid, in his 1978 Dodge Dart. Deputy Strate stopped the victim at an area known as Hickory Ridge where he bludgeoned the victim after which he proceeded to run over Mr. Kincaid with his police cruiser multiple times, resulting in the imminent death of the victim. He then disposed of the body in the ravine and sank the car in the lake at the base of the canyon."

To Enos, it was like hearing something out of a horror movie. They thought _he_ did _that_?

His life – everything and everyone that he loved, flashed before his eyes. If he couldn't convince them that they were wrong, they would take it all away! It would all be gone, just a distant memory, and the little stone cage in the Fulton County Penitentiary would be his home for the rest of his life.

He jumped to his feet as Gary tried to pull him back down.

"That ain't true, your Honor!" he burst out, "That's a ding-dang _lie_!" Two officers seized his arms to sit him back down, but he shook them off. "I ain't done none a' what he said!"

His feet were knocked out from under him, and he went down, gasping for breath against the red pile carpet of the courtroom floor. More officers seemed to appear from nowhere, holding him down, their hands grasping his clothes, pressing him hard against the floor.

* * *

Friday dawned like any other hot and humid day at the end of July in Hazzard – but that was the extent to which it was normal. The CB radio, which was never turned off, was silent now - Luke having tired of hearing nothing but gossip even before the sun rose.

Daisy moved through her chores on auto-pilot, her mind on more distressing things than laundry and dishes. She felt helpless, and it wasn't a feeling to which she was accustomed. Around Hazzard County, the Dukes were known for getting to the bottom of things. It was a fact that she had taken for granted, and probably Enos had as well, since Rosco said that he'd asked him to talk to Uncle Jesse on his behalf.

She looked up at the clock, which read 10:45 am, and felt keenly that she should be anywhere but standing in the kitchen at that particular moment. With a last swipe at the counter, she stretched her wash rag over the edge of the sink and took off her apron. Scribbling a hasty note to Uncle Jesse and the boys, who were out cutting down a rotten tree over on the north 40, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

* * *

After the arraignment, Enos had sat down with his lawyer, who wasn't thrilled with his client's poor court manners, and told him what had really happened between himself and Darcy that night. He had a sinking feeling that the guy hadn't believed half of what he'd said, though he'd promised to see about contacting the girl whose license number Enos had written down in his notepad for that night.

The growling of his stomach only served to dampen his spirits further. He'd missed lunch and the jail was in lock-down now, presumably until supper. Enos, who had a hard time just staying inside his apartment on his days off and had a slight problem with enclosed spaces, was already beginning to feel the edges of his sanity getting a bit fuzzy – and it had only been two hours since they'd stuck him back in here.

He'd spent half an hour counting the bricks in the room, but had lost track and given up, and now he sat on his bunk, staring at the wall which was nearly close enough for him to reach out and touch. The door made everything worse, solid steel painted a dark navy color with only the small rectangular window in the top. If it had been bars, there would have at least been something to look at, but as it was he was totally enclosed in the tiny space with a person who hadn't said a word to him and seemed to spend large stretches of time sleeping.

There was only so much one could occupy themselves with in a metal rat-hole, he decided, as he hopped up from his bunk and walked the length of the cell. To the door, turn around, and back to the end where a lidless toilet and a stainless steel sink sat bolted into the wall. He lost track of how many times he walked the short length of about 14 feet, feeling like a damned rat in a cage.

He felt a sudden pity for all those fireflies he'd caught and put in jars when he was a kid. They would always be dead the next morning. He sat down again, staring at the wall, his fingers worrying with the fabric of his shirt, his body rocking slightly back and forth with internal frustration.

The thought began small, a idea his conscious mind fought to ignore. "_What if... What if this is **it**?_" it whispered, "_What if this is all that's left? ...__What if this is __**forever**__?"_

He jumped up and ran to the door, banging his fists uselessly against the cold steel. "I didn't kill nobody, ding-dang it!" he shouted through the window, his words muted by the thick plexiglas. "I DIDN'T KILL _NOBODY_!"

The dry heaves caught him by surprise, and the taste of bile filled his mouth before he could run the other end of the room and spit into the toilet.

"Don't worry," his cell-mate muttered, as Enos wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "You'll get used to it in a couple weeks."


	9. Point of Honor

_"The one thing that cannot be taken from you without your consent is your character."  
_-Neil Armstrong_  
_

* * *

Rosco walked past Daisy, tacking up a new wanted poster on the bulletin board and trying to ignore her angry glare as she followed him up the steps and past the barrier into the booking area.

"Now Daisy, you know I've done told ya' all I know," he said, for the second time since she'd barged into the station fifteen minutes earlier. "There ain't nothin' I can do about it. It's outta my hands."

"Don't give me that, Rosco! If they're sayin' th' crime was here in Hazzard County, then _you_ oughta be in charge of it, not some big shots from Atlanta!"

The sheriff shook his head. "If it'd been anyone else maybe, but them guys from Atlanta ain't gonna let me investigate my own deputy." He stopped and turned towards her, close enough that Daisy could see the weariness in his eyes and the circles from his own lack of sleep underneath them. "Look Daisy, I'm just as sorry about it as you are. If there was anything I could be doin' for Enos, I'd be doin' it."

She sighed, frustrated. "I know it, Rosco," she admitted. "I just...I just feel like he's getting' railroaded by these city folks who don't know anything about him," she stammered.

"City slickers," he sneered. "They ain't but a bunch a sidewindin', pea-pickin'..." He stopped short, giving her a quick appraising glance, and frowned. "If you're goin' down t' see him t'morrow, you'd best find some different clothes. They ain't gonna let you in wearin' _that._"

She looked down at her cut-off shorts and halter top, clothes she normally wore in summer. "What's wrong with _these_ clothes?"

"We here in Hazzard County may be relaxed on th' rules of prisoner visitation, but Fulton County ain't. No shorts, no sleeveless shirts-" he glanced down towards the floor, "- no high-heels. Find somethin' different." The Sheriff checked his watch. "Now, it's time for you t' get, 'cause it's time for my lunch." He grabbed his hat from the booking table and stuck it on his head. "I s'pose I oughta go talk t' that Vivian girl down at th' Busy Bee, let her know Enos ain't gonna be around t' take her on their date."

At first, Daisy thought she'd heard him wrong. "What'd you say?"

He raised his eyebrow at her expression. "Enos told me he asked that pretty, brown headed waitress out th' other day," he explained, watching her closely.

If she hadn't been in such a state of shock, she might have had a smart reply for him, but as it was she found she had nothing to say.

"Th' boy ain't gonna wait around for you forever."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, Rosco," she snapped, before she turned and stormed out of the station.

Sitting in Dixie, she wished she hadn't reacted as she had. It never took much effort to give Rosco the wrong impression, and honestly she was happy – and a bit relieved – that Enos had found someone besides just herself to think about.

No matter that her first instinct had been to go down to the Busy Bee and demand of this _Vivian_ why she was going out with Enos. It was, after all, none of her business, not since she'd given his ring back to him four months ago - for safe keeping, she'd told him, but she had seen the truth of it mirrored in his eyes. He hadn't asked her a word about it, nor had he pressed the issue since.

Still...she couldn't help but wonder about the girl who'd caught his eye.

* * *

Breakfast on Saturday morning wasn't nearly as eventful as it had been the day before, much to Enos' relief, though he was still more nervous than a horse in a glue factory. Other inmates seemed to be going out of their way to bump into him, and he'd narrowly missed falling the length of the stairway when someone tripped him coming down to the mess area. He felt stares on his back, the atmosphere around him charged with an uneasy energy.

He scarfed down his food with abandon; a nearly edible concoction of greasy sausage, potatoes, and eggs, having read in his Prison Manual that inmates were only served two meals on weekends. After breakfast, he and the other prisoners were ordered to go back and stand by their doors for another head count. Enos didn't know if they just needed something for the guards to do or if they wanted to make sure the food hadn't claimed a victim – they'd already done a full count just _before_ breakfast.

Counts were to become a bane of Enos' existence, and the longer he was there, the more convinced he would become that they were what he'd originally believed them to be – busy work.

After count, was 'yard call'. They were marched down through the common area and several series of hallways until they arrived at a set of steel doors. When they were unlocked, the inmates around him hurried forward out into the bright sunlight of the prison yard.

"Strate," he heard as he passed, and turned to see a guard motioning to him. "Your lawyer's here t' talk to ya'."

Enos wove through the exiting inmates until he was back over nearby the guard. "On a Saturday? Ding, dang, I didn't think them people worked 'cept on Mondays an' Tuesdays!"

The guard - a portly, dark-skinned, middle aged man with a jovial face, laughed good-naturedly at him. "Well, Public Defenders ain't on th' same salary as th' Prosecution is, I guess." he said. "They gotta stuff as much work as they can into th' week." He motioned for Enos to turn around. "I gotta put th' cuffs on you 'till we get there, but I'll hook 'em in the front instead."

Enos' spirit had been so deprived of friendly banter the last two days that even having cuffs on was worth it. "That's alright," he said, holding his wrists out in front of him.

The officer slipped the metal bands on and tightened them, then guided him back down the hallway they had come from previously. It was deserted and quiet now during yard call.

"So, did you really do it?" asked the guard, quietly. "Kill that guy?"

Enos shook his head. "No sir, I didn't, but I's in th' wrong place at th' wrong time, and everything looks awful bad from where I'm standin'."

"You know a Dewey Wilkes up in Choctaw County?"

Enos brightened. "Dewey! I sure do, me an' him were in th' Academy together. He's a right fine cop."

"That's th same thing he said about _you_. I used t' be stationed up in Hatchape for a while an' we got t' know each other, so I called him up when I saw your story in th' papers." He shook his head. "I wish you luck, Deputy, but all I can say is you'd better grow eyes in th' back of your head while you're here. There ain't enough guards t' watch everything all th' time, an' your picture was in th' paper this mornin'."

"My picture!" Enos groaned.

"An' you don't wanna go sayin' how ya' talked to me, neither. Guys in here won't take kindly to it."

He nodded. "I'm mighty obliged to ya'...uh...sir."

The guard clapped him on the shoulder. "Morty's my name, but in here you can call me Officer Kellogg -sir." He opened a nondescript, steel door. "Here we are." He ushered Enos in and had him take a seat in the metal chair which was bolted to the concrete floor on one side of a metal table. A boxy security camera hung from supports in one corner of the room's ceiling. He motioned for Enos to take a seat.

"It shouldn't be too long a wait."

It wasn't. Less than five minutes after Officer Kellogg had brought him in, the young attorney from the arraignment hearing the day before opened the door and walked through. He frowned at Enos, tossed his briefcase onto the table, and plopped down the the chair across from him.

Wordlessly, he clicked the locks open on his briefcase, opened the lid and removed several papers which he then began perusing without so much as a glance up.

Enos watched him, trying to read the type written sheets upside down without much luck. Finally the lawyer gathered them, sat them aside, and looked up at him.

"Well," he began, "thanks to that little stunt you pulled at the arraignment, the judge denied my plea for bail." He searched Enos' face. "You know what that means, Mr. Strate?"

He shook his head.

"That means you get to stay in Fulton's First Class jail-bird accommodations until your case goes to trial."

"Stay in _here_?" asked Enos, incredulous. "Well...how long 'till it goes to trial?"

"You're lucky. In Georgia the time between your arraignment and trial can't be more than seventy days."

"S...Seventy days?.!"

He nodded. "September 26th."

Enos was still trying to figure out exactly how long seventy days was. "Wait..._what's_ September 26th?"

"Your trial date," the man elaborated. "Now, the prosecution has offered a plea bargain for you, which I would suggest you take as it seems to be uncommonly generous in your case."

"Plea bargain?" he asked, confused. Didn't a plea bargain mean he was _guilty_?

Gary nodded. "They've agreed to accept a plea of voluntary manslaughter since it could technically be considered a crime of passion. You'd probably get the full 20 years from it, but with the overcrowding problem in Atlanta, you could easily be out in 15 with good behavior."

"20 years!" Enos shouted, aghast.

"Hey, it's a hell of a lot better than life without parole or sittin' in Old Sparky!" he reminded him. "There's no second-degree murder in Georgia, and you ain't exactly in a good way, buddy. It's your word against theirs, an' in court your word ain't gonna amount to a hill of beans - especially since your story is that you blackmailed a guy who was in the process of committing a felony into leavin' town instead of arresting him. You got no police report, no witnesses -"

"How about that woman in th' car with him?" Enos demanded, "Didja find her? What'd _she_ say?"

Gary shrugged. "She says she's never heard of you or visited Hazzard County."

"Then how in th' world would I have had her Driver's License number?"

"She says she thinks she remembers a cop of your description lookin' for fun at the Gold Club."

Enos groaned and rubbed his eyes. Could it get any worse? Now his only witness had it in for him. "I've _never_ been to th' Gold Club."

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway because the judge already ruled it inadmissible," said the lawyer. "You can't just go on wild goose-chases for witnesses." He paused and shook his head compassionately. "Look, you ain't got a leg t' stand on. You let this go t' trial, they're gonna let you fry."

Enos stared doggedly back at him. "I'm not confessin' to a crime _I DIDN'T COMMIT!_"

Gary shrugged. "Well, suit yourself. It's gonna be a bumpy ride."


	10. First Impressions

_"Our blunders mostly come from letting our wishes interpret our duties." _  
~_Anonymous_

* * *

Saturday, July 27, 1985

* * *

She'd seen them miles ago – the towers of the Fulton County Jail. They loomed stolid and imposing over the surrounding skyline as Uncle Jesse drove the truck slowly through the winding side-streets of Atlanta, their narrow windows slipping in and out of her view, watching her like baleful eyes through the morning haze.

As they approached the entrance to the grounds, a sign for the Visitor's entrance directed them to the left and down another road which circumvented the south side of the prison, and Daisy's eyes were drawn to the tall, double thick, chain-link fence with razor wire on top and then beyond where men dressed in the uniform navy blue of the prison milled about in a desolate, barren yard. She strained her eyes, searching the sea of prisoners, but they passed to quickly to make anyone out.

Hazzard had seen nothing like what dwelt behind that fence. There were people here who would just as soon kill her than look at her - e_vil_ people, and somewhere, shut up with them inside those stone walls, was the last person in the world who belonged there.

Unlike the immense, polished granite facade of the administrative entrance, the visitation building was squat and unassuming, looking rather more like a double-wide trailer stuck onto the rear of the jail, complete with cheap, tan, metal siding. It was nothing like what she had been expecting.

An air of disquiet fell upon all three as they walked up the long, winding ramp leading up to the building. Daisy felt as though she were being led to an execution, like the public hangings that had been popular community events two hundred years before. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she needed to put on a brave face for Enos. He was, after all, the one who wouldn't be leaving today. The thought unsettled her more. Rosco looked visibly uncomfortable himself.

"Uncle Jesse, I don't like this already," she murmured as they mounted the steps up to the building.

"I don't think we're meant t' like it, baby," he reminded her.

The steps led up to a small deck and a simple door which read unassumingly, "No Smoking" and in smaller print "Entrance". Uncle Jesse opened it and held it for her.

It was the smell that hit her first. Stale air, punctuated by a slight antiseptic scent that she could taste in the back of her throat. _Too clean. _She reckoned even the germs didn't dare enter here. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked on the gleaming white tile floor.

"Are you here for visitation?" a sheriff's deputy behind a counter asked them.

Uncle Jesse removed his hat politely. "Yes sir, that's right."

"If this is your first time here at Fulton, you'll need to fill out a request form." He gestured over to a small desk where a stack of forms sat with a jar of pens. "Are all three of you gonna be visitin' the same inmate?"

Rosco glanced at them nodding. "Yeah, uh... Uh yeah, there's three of us."

"Okay, well, that's fine. Each inmate is allowed three visits of 15 minutes a week. After you fill out the forms, just go through that door there-" he pointed at the far end of the room, "-and give the form with your identification to the guard at the first desk. They'll call your name when your turn comes and escort you back separately into the actual visitation area. Here's a information book for you."

Daisy took the small booklet he handed her.

They filled out the forms and then left through the door the officer had shown them. The first room they had been in had been empty and quiet. Now they knew why. The waiting room was packed with people sitting in row after row of plastic chairs – dozens of visitors, and Daisy knew they probably wouldn't be the first in line..._more like #76_. She followed her uncle to a section that was less crowded and they settled into the seats for a long wait.

* * *

After Gary had given up trying to convince him that his future was hopeless, Enos was moved to a holding cell in a different part of the lower level and told that he had visitors, but that it was first come, first serve. He looked around at the other two dozen or so other inmates also in the holding cell and figured he was neither first come, nor first serve.

He took a seat on the floor next to the wall to wait his turn, hoping it would be Uncle Jesse, though he suspected it might be Rosco as well, and maybe Daisy if she thought it would help cheer him up. She had always been kind and generous to a fault to those who were down on their luck, and Enos suspected she might adopt him as her next lost cause. He didn't want her pity...but it would be nice to see her face, nonetheless. He decided against telling anyone what that ding-dang lawyer of his had said. There was no need to worry anyone...not just yet. An arraignment wasn't a trial and it wasn't a guarantee that there would be one.

Keeping it from everyone else was the easy part – but keeping his own mind off of it was a different story. He'd always believed in justice – in giving everyone their fair shake, whether they turned out to be guilty or not. He was innocent, he told himself, and that meant it didn't matter what ol' Gary or some big-shot attorney thought.

Only... in his heart of hearts, he didn't believe it.

A crime was like a puzzle, and when you put all the pieces together it made a picture of the guilty party – the problem was that most of the pieces of this one seemed to add up to him. It worried him that the hooker had lied about him. He supposed she didn't want to be dragged into the middle of a murder investigation, but still...he had to wonder about her. She was the only one who would have known about him meeting Darcy out on the Ridge that night. What if she'd had it out for Darcy? His hatred of Darcy had made him an easy target, and he hadn't bothered hiding it when he'd seen him that night. She could have killed him, dumped his body, and rolled the car over the cliff herself. All she'd need to do was to wait a while until the body decomposed and call it in, marking him as the killer. All wrapped up with a dang bow, pretty as you please.

He watched as one by one the prisoners who had been brought in before him were led down a hallway towards what he assumed was the visitation area. As they left, more arrived. He had almost fallen asleep again when his turn came.

The visitation area reminded him of study hall at the Academy, little numbered cubicles all lined up in a row. The guard led him down to number 12 where Rosco waited on the other side of the plexi-glas.

"Sit down, Mr. Strate, and I'll remove the cuffs," the guard told him.

He frowned at the Sheriff as he took a seat on the metal bench on his side of the barrier, waiting until his arms were free before he picked up the receiver hanging on it's cradle on the side of the cubicle. Rosco must be pulling some long nights lately, he thought. His eyes were tired, his face drawn with worry as he picked up the connecting receiver.

"E..Enos. How ya' doin', boy?"

_How was he doin_'? _Just peachy, Rosco, thanks for askin'_. "I'm fine, Sheriff," he replied, instead. "You look like you've been workin' too hard, though. Ain't Cletus around t' take my shift?"

A brief flicker of what might have been anger crossed Rosco's face. "Well, now, y' see, Boss...he ain't liking this one bit, ya' know. 'Specially not since he found out Hazzard County has t' pay t' keep ya' here." His eyes shifted to look down the hallway, over Enos' shoulder. "He's only givin' Cletus half-time since he figures he's still payin' for _you_."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," he said, uncomfortably. "You know how it is."

"I'm...awful sorry I'm causin' so much trouble, Sheriff."

Rosco shook his head. "No, now, I don't want you t' worry about that. Fact is, I've been goin' over th' stuff they asked for, and I just ain't seein' how they have much of a case at all against you. Why, there ain't even a report of you stoppin' Darcy."

Enos looked down and closed his eyes. What would everyone think of him when they found out what he'd done? He was the one who had always kept it by the book, and in his mind's eye he watched his reputation burst into flames and fall from grace in a hail of glowing ashes. He took a deep breath, savoring the last moment before he spoke. "I didn't write it up, Sheriff," he said, softly. "I pulled him over, but I didn't fill out a report."

There was a pause which seemed to Enos to last forever and a day before Rosco spoke, confusion evident in his tone. "Why on earth woud'ja not write it up, ya' dipstick?"

He sighed forlornly. "I promised him if he left town, I wouldn't take him in for bein' with a hooker."

"Lord Almighty, Enos!" he hissed, leaning closer to the glass. "You sure gotta way of choosin' th' wrong time t' start bein' underhanded."

Enos' head jerked back up at the notion. "I wern't meant t' be doin' anything underhanded!" he shot back. "I's just givin' him a choice. I told him if he left Hazzard, I'd let him go an' not say a word. That's th' last I saw of him. Honest, Sheriff, I swear - I didn't _kill_ him!"

"Yeah, well, he's left Hazzard alright...with a one way Express ticket t' Hogg's Heavenly Acres."

He had no answer for that.

"Look, Enos, I'll do what I can t' talk to th' GBI. You just...just hang in there."

"I will, Sheriff. I 'preciate you tryin' t' help me."

The sheriff watched him silently. If it had been anyone else... but dang it - it had to be _Enos_. Rosco wasn't sure his deputy understood exactly how bad his situation was, not only from the charges stemming against him, but his current environment. "Enos..."

The look in Rosco's eyes worried him. Enos was hard pressed to remember a time he'd looked so serious. "Yeah, Sheriff?'

"It...it ain't Hazzard High in there, boy. Somebody messes with ya', you're gonna have t' fight back."

Rosco hung the receiver back in its cradle and left before Enos could say another word.

* * *

Daisy looked up as Rosco approached, the expression on his face distant and detached. "Whoever's next, I guess," he told them.

"You go on, Daisy," said Uncle Jesse, patting her hand. "I 'spect he'll be happy t' see you."

"Okay, Uncle Jesse."

Rosco motioned towards the guard standing beside the door to the visitation area. "Just tell th' guard who you're here t' see, I guess."

Daisy crossed the room, feeling eyes watching her as she passed. They were full of resignation and pity and she hated their conclusions. What were they thinking? Probably that she had a brother or boyfriend in here who had committed some crime or another. It made her want to scream. This was temporary! Heck, he'd probably be out of here next week, fishing in Hazzard Pond and coming by the Boar's Nest to have a buttermilk.

"Sir, I'm Daisy Duke, I'm here t' see Enos Strate," she told the guard in her sweetest voice.

The man checked his clipboard. "I have a Benjamin Strate in visitation."

"That's him. He goes by Enos," she explained.

"He's in number 12. You have fifteen minutes, the timer will start when you pick up the receiver. Your time's up when the buzzer sounds."

"Thanks."

He held the door for her as she entered the room. Lined up along the wall, dividers four feet tall extended out from the wall, concealing the people behind them and separating each visitation space from the other. On each corner was a number. She walked past a dozen, slowing down as she reached number 12, heart racing, nervous at the thought of seeing him out of his element.

She took a deep breath and turned into the cubicle, sitting down in the chair before looking up. It was only when she'd taken the receiver from it's hook that she raised her eyes to his.

He gave her a cheerful enough smile, but it didn't fool her. He looked tired...and worried.

"Hey," she said, timidly.

What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be cheering him up. She cleared her throat. "Hey, sugar," she tried again, succeeding in sounding more like her usual self.

"Hey yourself, Daisy. I'm real sorry you've gotta see me like this. You really shouldn't've come."

"Don't be silly, why, I bet you'll be outta here in no time. Right now, those detectives are probably lookin' over this thing and realizin' you ain't done nothin' wrong. 'Sides, it might not be Darcy they found anyway, I mean...it could just be..." She sighed, remembering how the detective had told her the body had been found with his identification. "I don't know...I thought he'd left town."

"Daisy, there's somethin' I gotta tell you..."

Something in his eyes made her heart speed up. She shook her head. "Huh uh. Don't you dare go tellin' me this was somehow your fault! You didn't kill anyone." Surely he didn't think they'd just keep him here for no reason.

"No Daisy, I didn't." His eyes bore into hers, his knuckles white where they gripped the phone. "I swear, th' Lord as my witness, no matter what anyone else says or what else you hear, I didn't. You've gotta believe me, Daisy. "

She laughed nervously. "Of course I believe you, Enos." It wasn't like him to be so worried, in fact she was more than a little piqued that he didn't trust her own judgment. "I thought you knew me a little better than that." The accusing bite in her voice only made him look away, and she felt a stab of guilt. She'd never been good at cheering people up, dang-it! That was _his_ job. "I'm sorry. What were you gonna tell me?"

"I never told you th' truth about th' last time I saw Darcy, an' I'd rather you hear it from me than from some lawyer, 'cause it's why he left town."

"I don't understand what _you'd_ have t' do with him leavin' town," she said, confused. "Darcy'd been wantin' to get outta Hazzard for a while. He even told me he was thinkin' about goin' out t' Las Vegas. Somewhere flashy."

"Yeah, well, that may be, but if he left when he did 'cause I told him to."

"What are you talkin' about?"

Enos closed his eyes and rubbed at the tenseness in his face, obviously distraught by whatever he needed to tell her. After a moment, he seemed to gather himself and looked back up. "I was never gonna tell you. I swore an' oath to him, an' I meant t' keep it. I...I was just tryin' to protect your reputation was all," he rushed in a whisper, barely audible over the receiver.

He paused and she knew how hard it was for him to go on. For Enos to break an oath to anyone, even Darcy, was not something to be taken lightly. It would have to be as important as life or death... She was terrified of what he had to say.

"I saw his car parked that night up on Hickory Ridge, so I pulled over to see what was goin' on... Daisy, he...he had a prostitute in th' car with him."

She looked down, exhaling in relief, her face flushing despite his revelation not being much of a surprise to her. Everyone knew what Darcy was about.

"I told him if he left Hazzard that night, I wouldn't arrest him, an' that I wouldn't tell you what I caught him doin'. He agreed, an' that was the end of it. I swear to ya', Daisy, I left both of 'em safe an' sound."

"Enos..." She started, but then stopped, unsure of what to say.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't talk more about it right now," he continued, "I just...I had t' let you know the truth before ya' got asked about it by some detective. There's somethin' else, an' you ain't got much time left. I need t' ask you a favor."

"What is it?" she asked, not knowing if she wanted to know or not.

His expression shifted to one of embarrassment. "Well, I ain't paid th' rent yet for next month on my apartment, an' I ain't gonna be drawin' a check for th' last part of this week. I need you t' go out to my ma's house -"

"You mom?.!" His mother was about as mean and crazy as they came, and she suspected Enos himself would rather get a couple teeth pulled than spend time with the woman. "Enos, she ain't likely t' do nothin' t' help _you_, let alone give _me _th' time of day!"

"Yeah, well, I reckon that's th' problem, 'cause she's got all my savin's," he explained. "I've sent enough money up there over th' years for her t' pay off her mortgage ten times over, but all she does is go an' bury it in th' back yard. If you'd go an' dig up one of them jars she squirrels away my money in an' pay my rent, I'd be much obliged. She plays bingo on Tuesdays...one o'clock down at th' church." He watched her carefully.

Daisy hesitated, not because she had a problem digging up Enos' money, but if that old bat found out about it, she didn't want to be anywhere near the fallout. "She's gonna tell Rosco someone robbed her. Write her a letter an' let her know you asked me to."

"I'd write her a letter, but I ain't got nothin' t' do it with."

"I'll figure out how t' leave some money for you so you can buy some stamps an' stuff."

Enos frowned. "Well, whatever you leave me, take it outta what's left from my ma's. In fact, just keep what ya' find in case I'm still here in September. I ain't got much stuff, but I don't wanna come back an' find it out by the road, either."

She flashed him what she hoped looked like a reassuring smile. "I'll take care of it, sugar. An' don't you worry, you'll be outta here-"

A buzzer sounded.

"You'll be outta here in no time. I'll fix ya' up some fried chicken, an' we'll all have a good laugh about all this nonsense."

He gave her a half-smile. "You're prob'ly right, Daisy," he said, as much for himself as for her. "When I get outta here, I owe ya' a fish dinner."

She laughed, but noticed Enos' eyes move behind her, and she turned around to see the guard standing there. "Ma'am, you're time's up. I'm gonna have to ask you t' leave."

"Of course, I'm sorry, officer." She hung up the receiver and turned back to Enos. "Sorry..." she mouthed.

He shrugged and smiled sadly as he hung up his own.

Less than half and hour later, Daisy, Uncle Jesse, and Rosco were headed back home to Hazzard, each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

At some point previously all the inmates had been rounded up from the yard and herded back to their cells. One of the younger guards escorted Enos through the empty halls, their footsteps ringing out as they climbed the metal stairs.

"That sure was a pretty thing that visited you," the officer said, "Girlfriend, huh?'

"No, she's just an old friend," Enos said. "I reckon she's tryin' t' cheer me up."

"She sure could cheer me up," he said, suggestively, in a tone Enos didn't care for. "You two have some history?"

"Nothin' interesting" he said, trying to turn the subject off of Daisy. "Say, she was gonna leave enough for me t' buy writin' materials an' stamps, but I ain't got th' foggiest idea how that works here, buyin' things, that is."

"The commissary's open on Tuesdays during yard call, but I'll see what I can do about it for you."

He unlocked cell 201 and pulled it open while Enos stepped inside and waited to be uncuffed.

"I'd really appreciate that, sir."

The officer nodded and the door shut behind him.

Shortly after, the small metal flap in the center of the door slid open. Enos hopped up off his bunk and leaned over, trying to see what was going on.

"Strate?" He recognized the voice of the officer who had brought him up from visitation.

"Yes sir?"

"Here's you some paper an' a pencil, an' a couple stamped envelopes." A short stack of lined notebook paper, two envelopes, and a dull pencil slipped through the opening and Enos took them. "I took it outta your funds. Figured Tuesday was a mighty long wait."

"Ding – dang!" Enos swore, softly. "I'm much obliged to ya', sir."

"Well, that's a freebie, th' next favor'll cost ya'," came the officer's cryptic remark as the plate slid shut once more.

"Cost me?" Enos murmured to himself. "Don't know what _that_ means..."

"It means you'd better not ask for another favor," said his cell-mate. "Specially not from Riley."

Enos looked up at the man on the top bunk. "I thought he was just bein' nice."

The man laughed so hard it rolled into a fit of coughing. "Nice don't mean sh*t in here," he said. " You'd better learn that quick. Somebody's nice t' you, they're libel t' want somethin' from ya' later, an' we ain't talkin' money."

Enos watched him warily. "You're bein' awful nice, warnin' me about it."

The man shrugged. "I get queasy at th' sight of blood. You don't learn th' rules, you're gonna spill a lot of it."

Enos, determined to get his carcass through this whole mess in working order, decided he'd better start paying more attention. "What're you in for, anyway?"

"Wood-chipper accident," he said, grinning. "Damn things'll chop up anything."


	11. Room Without a View

_A/N: I do apologize for the one curse word.  
_

* * *

_"Sooner or later even the fastest runners have to stand and fight."  
_-Stephen King

* * *

Monday, July 29

* * *

Enos knelt on the floor, a piece of white, lined notebook paper staring back at him. He tapped the pencil restlessly against the concrete, trying to think of how to write a letter to his mother. What was he supposed to say? _'Say, ma', Daisy's gonna come up there and dig up your back yard since I can't trust you to pay my rent for me'_. Swell.

"Just tell her ya' love her an' get it over with," offered his cell-mate.

He glanced up at the man sitting on the top bunk. "It's to my mother."

"So...tell her ya' love her an' send it off."

"We're not that close," he said, "I don't reckon she'd care if I loved her or not."

The man made an unconcerned sound and lay back on his bunk. "That's too bad, man."

Turning back to the task at hand, Enos addressed the letter – not to his mother, but to the Sheriff. It would probably be best, despite Daisy asking him to write his ma', for him not to say anything directly to her about it. Maybe she wouldn't notice someone had dug up one of her bushes. He hoped Daisy would cover her tracks as best she could.

_Rosco,  
Daisy has my permission to use the money buried on the property behind my mother's house, and since the land is in my name, it's my right to give it to her. If my mother comes in and tells you that Daisy robbed her, please explain it to her. Thanks, Sheriff._

_And please don't tell Mr. Hogg that there's money buried there.  
Enos_

He glanced it over and shrugged to himself. He trusted Rosco as long as Mr. Hogg didn't have anything to do with it. Lord only knew how much his mother had stashed back there. She was as big a miser as any Scrooge...as long as she had her Camels handy and could watch _The Price is Right_ everyday.

* * *

The house was quiet as Daisy sat down to eat a late lunch. She had been alone this Monday morning, which was out of the ordinary. The boys had gone down to Cooter's for some part or another for the General and Uncle Jesse had gone up to visit Henstep McCullum, one of the Ridge-runners and an old friend of the Dukes, to talk about the drought and shoot the bull.

She sipped her iced tea absently, only picking at the ham sandwich she'd made, her mind on what she needed to do tomorrow and how exactly to accomplish it without having Agnes Strate come to the farm and acquaint her with the business end of Enos' 12-gauge. She should've had him write to Rosco instead of his mother. Lord knew the woman had never liked her...probably because she'd been so close to Enos growing up. He had practically grown up with the Dukes, especially in the summers when his father would drop him by their place while on a boot-legging run instead of leaving him alone with the witch.

Those had been happier days for everyone, until Otis Strate's still had blown up when Enos was fifteen, taking away the one parent who had loved him unconditionally. A couple of months later, his mother had taken off to New Mexico, leaving him behind to fend off the Georgia Department of Human Services. He'd escaped going to the orphanage by moving in with them at the farm until he passed his GED and entered the Police Academy in Atlanta at sixteen.

The Academy had changed him, or maybe it had just changed _them_. They had remained friends, but the closeness and understanding they'd once shared had been lost. It was hard for her to believe that there had been a time when they could finish each other's sentences, they'd known each other so well.

She heard the General Lee pull up into the drive and shook her head against the memories, taking another swallow of her tea. The screen door flew open behind her with a force that suggested that whoever had opened it was upset. Before she could turn around, a newspaper dropped next to her plate. She looked up at Luke who'd thrown it there, his eyes cold with anger.

"What's this?"

"Just read it," he answered, "you'll see."

She picked up the front page of the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_. On it was a full color picture of a man in blue prison clothes being led up the steps to a courthouse, and in an inset was a smaller picture of Enos. Her stomach twisted in knots before she even made it to the head-line.

_**Hazzard County Deputy Arraigned on Capital Murder Charges**_

She scanned the article, not really reading it, her eyes picking out the main points: arraigned Friday in Fulton County...trial set for September 26th...denied bail...

"What does it mean?" she asked, not looking up.

"It means," said Bo, "that they ain't lettin' him out."

Luke shook his head. "I don't know, Daisy. I don't know why th' judge wouldn't allow him out on bail, even. Looks like they're takin' it to trial though. "

Bo tapped at the newspaper in her hands. "Didja' read what they think he's _done?_ I don't know where they'd get a crazy idea like that from. Enos runnin' Darcy down with his car? Here, let me see it."

He tried to pull it out of her hands, but Daisy yanked it back from him. "I can read it myself." She stood up and left the kitchen, the sound of her bedroom door slamming behind her reverberating through the house.

* * *

Monday passed for Enos without much ado. They had been on lockdown for the entire day, even for roll call and meals, and so time passed slowly. Most of it was spent laying on his bunk, staring at the underside of the bed above him and wondering what he was missing in the real world. He put his pillow over his head to block out the light, trying to waste time sleeping, but his body wasn't tired and his mind circled over and over, full of thoughts yet unable to concentrate on anything specific. He wished he had his weight bench. When his mind fell into the rhythm of counting reps, the rest of the world seemed to melt away.

He did the best he could with what was at hand, tucking his feet under the bottom bar of the bed to work on sit-ups and stretching out along the narrow stretch of concrete beside the bunk for push-ups.

And so passed Monday, the 29th of July.

The next day was yard call again, and visitation day as well, but Enos didn't count on seeing anyone from home so close to the last time. Saturday, maybe...

Gary's comments about no bail reverberated through his mind. Seventy days...no, sixty-six now. Every time he thought about it, the anxiety would settle like a iron weight onto his chest. He prayed between now and then the GBI would come to their senses.

He'd been absently following the group of inmates in front of him as they passed through the halls on their way to the yard and he found himself outside before he really took stock of his environment. He looked up and shaded his eyes against the glaring sunlight. The yard was flat, the size of a football field across, mostly dirt with small, forlorn patches of Johnson grass here and there growing up defiantly in the hard scrabble and dust. Outside the double fence the grass was green and had been neatly groomed and kept – a stark contradiction to the barren field in which he stood.

He wandered from the side of the building down towards the fence, wanting to see something – _anything_ – other than the prison around him. Beyond the second fence, with it's loops of concertina wire which could slice through flesh like a hot knife through butter, was a road. It was paved, but unlined and not a major thoroughfare, and indeed it looked as though the grass had almost won the war with it in some spots, creeping inwards past the sides of the pavement.

A silent, internal alarm made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It was a feeling, as though the air around him vibrated with an unseen electrical charge, that told him he wasn't alone, and then a sound – the quiet crunch of a step on rocks, too close at hand. His tongue and throat felt as dry and dusty as the dirt underfoot and he knew the game was up. He could feel their eyes watching him – waiting – before they'd even uttered a word.

Whether it was intuition or sheer luck that he turned when he did was debatable, but he was in the right position at the right time and managed to parry the first punch. He missed the second, by a different assailant, and it caught him squarely in the side of the head, the force of it spinning him back around, into the fence. He grabbed at the chain-link, trying to keep himself upright, alarmed at the amount blood running down the side of his face and seeping into his shirt.

"You ain't so big _now_, are ya', pig!" shouted someone behind him.

Enos turned around, leaning back against the fence, his ear ringing from the force of the blow and feeling as though something had imploded behind his left eye, and faced the four men who stood in a loose circle around him. They were jumpy, like the hyenas he'd seen once on a National Geographic special on television, eager and excited over blooding their kill and ready to attack. Behind their eyes, beyond the thrill of the moment, there was nothing, and it was that emptiness that scared him.

His mind automatically shuffled through the defensive tactics he'd learned so long ago at the Academy and then again at the LAPD. The skills were rusty, and there were too many of them if they jumped him at once, but if they thought he was just going to lay down and take a beating, they could think again.

He took a deep breath, pushing past the vertigo, and took a step forward away from the fence, crossing his arms up in front of his face, his hands in fists in the defensive stance he'd been taught in training. "Hey, listen, fellas, I don't want no trouble with you." The last thing he wanted was to get in a fight.

They laughed. "Yo," called one of them to the others, "you hear this shi*t? This pig don't want no trouble." He looked back at Enos. "My brother got popped by a cop. How you like _that _for trouble? "

"I'm awful sorry 'bout your brother," said Enos, trying to keep him talking. "but I ain't th' one who did that."

The guy looked around theatrically. "Yeah, well...I don't see him in here." He leveled his gaze at him once more. "Guess you'll have t' do."

He came at him, throwing his foot up to kick him, but Enos pivoted and knocked his leg aside, catching him with an elbow to the chest. The man lost his balance and fell to the ground.

Enos' victory was short lived though as the others came at him at once. The two on either side of him grabbed his arms and while he was trying to fight them off, the third kneed him hard in the groin. His legs gave way under him and the two who had been holding his arms threw him roughly to the ground. He curled up against the pain, tasting the grit of dirt in his mouth, and threw his arms up over his head as they kicked him where he lay.

"_Hey!_"

The sound of the guard's voice over the melee was the most beautiful sound Enos thought he'd ever heard. His attackers vanished, disappearing into the crowd which had gathered to watch. The guard pushed through the onlookers into the open space while Enos dragged himself painfully up onto his knees.

For a moment, the officer just stood there staring at him, the whisper of an expletive on his lips and Enos knew how he must look. He turned and reached up to the chain-link fence, pulling himself slowly upright, his muscles taut and shaking with adrenaline. Nothing seemed broken, but he'd hurt tomorrow for sure.

"Turn around! Hands behind your back!" the guard yelled at him, taking his hand-cuffs off his belt.

"_What?"_ Enos asked, incredulous. "Sir, I wasn't th' one fightin!"

"Shut up, an' turn around, or you're gonna get a matching shiner on th' other side."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Enos turned around and put his arms behind him, despite the throbbing aches of his bruised muscles, and the blood that still dripped steadily from a cut somewhere above his eye, falling in crimson splatters onto the dusty ground of the yard. The officer cuffed him and dragged him off towards the prison entrance.

At first he thought maybe he was just being taken to the infirmary, but that hope disappeared when they passed the sign to it pointing down a different hallway than they were traveling. Every footstep jarred his body painfully as he was led it down into the basement level of the prison and underneath a red portal whose white block letters above read:

_SHU South_

He balked. "Hey now, wait just a pea-pickin' minute! _I _didn't start that fight, I's just mindin' my own business!"

The guard stopped. "An' I expect you can pick out just who _did _start it?" he asked, the question obviously rhetorical.

Enos shook his head. It wouldn't matter if he could, the only thing worse than bein' a cop in prison was bein' a snitchy cop, he figured.

The officer jerked Enos forward with him, down the dank, stinking, low-lit hallway. The cells here were the iron bars instead of the solid steel doors on the upper levels, and behind each was a tiny cubicle, painted a sickly color of institutional green, no bigger than a bathroom, with a single bunk, a sink, and a toilet in full view. Prisoners flocked to the front of each cell as they passed, a new fish being prime entertainment in solitary. The guard stopped at number 6, unlocked the door, took off his cuffs, and shoved him in.

"Hey!" yelled Enos, as the guard turned to leave. "How long am I gonna be in here?"

"Don't know, don't care!" the man shouted and walked away.


	12. Saving for a Rainy Day

_Thanks again to Enos'Gal, i1976, mygh91, enosgalpal, and JadedPhoenixBurning for all your reviews and encouragement!  
_

* * *

_"At the core of all anger is a need that is not being fulfilled."_  
~Marshall B. Rosenberg

* * *

Tuesday, July 30

* * *

While Enos was being escorted to a room without a view, 120 miles to the northeast, Daisy watched impatiently at the edge of the wood-line outside a small, white farmhouse in the hills of Northern Hazzard County. She checked her watch, then glanced upward towards the sky which had begun rumbling distantly - the dark, low-lying clouds still to the north, hidden by the trees surrounding the clearing before her.

It _would_ rain, thought Daisy, on the one day and the exact hour she didn't need it to. Maybe though, if she was lucky, it would hide any evidence of her having been here. She rubbed her thumb anxiously against the dry-rotted wood of the old shovel she held. The Strate homestead sat on a rise above her, the old metal shed to her right, but from her lower vantage point she couldn't see the rear of the property where Enos had directed her to dig.

Her body was taut with anticipation as the minutes ticked by, her eyes trained on the door of the house, trying not to think about the article she'd read in the paper the day before.

He'd _lied_ to her! He'd told her everything was going to be fine. Alright, so he hadn't said _that,_ but he hadn't said a word about being arraigned or denied bail. Just like Bo and Luke, sometimes Enos' protectiveness went too far and made her feel like an idiot. He should have told her.

She focused back on the silent house. What if his mother didn't go to her Bingo club today? She thought over the possibility and decided she'd just have to come back at night if that were the case, although she expected Agnes Strate had a shoot first, ask questions later policy with intruders. She knew well enough why Enos had asked _her _to come out here for him. Uncle Jesse would have scrounged enough to pay the rent out of his own pocket, and Enos hated being beholden to anyone.

It was a quiet, out of the way homestead - pretty, she supposed, if it didn't conjure up such bad memories. She'd only been out here a handful of times - Agnes Strate didn't entertain visitors, especially if their last name was Duke. In fact, they last time she'd been here had been a few months after Enos' father had died, after his mother had left town but before he'd moved in with them at the farm.

_...A dark-haired boy with sharp, hazel eyes yelling at her to go home and slamming the door in her face... _

The front door closing jolted her back to the present as Agnes came out, then climbed into her truck and left, driving slowly down the curving lane. Daisy waited until she could no longer see the truck, then waited another five minutes – just in case the woman were to come back for something.

As if on cue, the rain began to fall – huge, sporadic drops which thumped loudly against the metal roof of the shed, echoing eerily across the yard and back to her. With a deep breath, Daisy took the shovel and left the safety of the woods, walking up the hill, the rain pelting down upon her. She skirted the house, going around to the back yard where she stopped, stunned.

Bushes of various sizes and shapes were scattered throughout the yard with no seeming patterning nor reason- easily two dozen of them. It was as though they'd sprung up on their own, like weeds. Did that woman seriously have a jar of money under each bush?

Daisy looked for one of the scruffiest and scrawniest of the bunch, hoping any damage would less noticeable than to one of the more robust bushes. She cut down through the soil with the shovel until the metal struck against something. Lifting up the roots of the bush, she knelt down, and scrabbled at the roots and dirt beneath it until her fingers felt the smoothness of glass, slick with the mud and rain. It took quite a few minutes more of digging, until finally she was able to pull the jar free...a green, quart-sized canning jar with an old zinc lid, stuffed to the brim with money.

She set the jar aside, pulling her dripping and dirty hair out of her eyes. Setting the bush upright once more, she pushed the dirt back in around it, piecing together the clumps of grass.

Grabbing the jar, she ran back down the hill and through the woods to Cedar Point Road on the far side of the property where she'd parked the truck in the abandoned turn-off to old Miller's Pond.

* * *

Enos knelt in front of the stainless steel toilet, for lack of a better mirror, and wiped at the blood which seemed to have covered a large portion of the left side of his face. He couldn't find any other cuts save a small one just above his left eye, bu he'd heard that head wounds tended to bleed worse than others. He gave up trying to clear it all away with the toilet paper and went to the sink, splashing water over his hair and face, watching the water run red and then at last only pink as it disappeared down the drain.

When he felt he'd done away with the worst of the mess, he sat down on the bunk and stripped off his bloodied shirt to try and assess his other wounds. They weren't as bad as they could be – bruised ribs which would no doubt be a colorful assortment of black and blues by the next day, and a couple good whacks on his legs and arms, but nothing that wouldn't heal. His groin ached, but he'd done worse to himself riding Luke's bike when he was a kid. He'd been lucky - they'd had the advantage, and if they'd known how they could have killed him.

He leaned back against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest, thinking about what Rosco had told him about fighting back. He'd known...

_Well, of course he knew, idiot. What did you expect would happen when they found out you were a cop?_

_Not __**were**__. I __**am**__ a cop._

He wasn't naive enough to think that the bumbling country deputy routine would get him very far in here. No...he sighed, he was a hell of a long way from Hazzard, and if he didn't want to end up on the wrong end of someone's sharpened toothbrush, he'd need to do a better job of defending himself the next time. Because, without a doubt, there _would_ be a next time.

He knew_ how_ to fight – after seeing a fellow LAPD officer nearly bleed to death from a broken bottle to the throat, he'd taken a refresher course on Defensive Tactics in his down time, but with his innate clumsiness the training had never come naturally.

Now he'd gotten himself stuck in solitary without even an clue of how long he'd be there. He looked through the bars out into the bleak and deserted hallway on the other side and rubbed at his aching head, missing home and tired of getting jerked around.

* * *

By the time Daisy got back to the farm, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out once again, hotter than ever. Steam rose from the muddy dirt roads, the only evidence that it had been raining cats and dogs a scant half hour before. Bo was out on the porch sitting on the swing when she pulled up. He did a double take at her soaked and dirty appearance as she walked up the steps, her hair caked with mud and carrying a jar in the crook of her arm.

"What in th' world happened t' _you_?"

With Bo, there was no need to lie about it, but she was tired and just wanted a shower. "Enos asked me t' go pay his rent."

"When did he move into a cave?"

"Funny. I had t' go dig up his money outta his mom's yard."

He dropped the stick he'd been stripping the bark off of and looked at her as though she'd gone crazy. "You went up t' _Agnes'_ place? Uncle Jesse finds out, you'll have some explainin' t' do."

"That's why you're not gonna say anything, Bo." She ruffled his blond curls until he batted her hand away. "Don't worry, she didn't see me."

"That ol' bat's crazy," he reminded her. "I don't know why Enos can't keep his money in a bank. What's he doin' buryin' it in her yard for?"

"He didn't, he... ," she sighed and shook her head, "oh, never mind. I gotta go take a shower."

An hour and a half later, she sat on her bed behind the locked door of her room, surrounded by piles of crumpled money. She stared at them, not knowing what to think. Enos had sent the better part of his income to his mom for the last fifteen years, but she wasn't sure he realized just how much that had been. The single jar that she'd filched from Agnes Strate's yard contained $1, 155.


	13. Ties that Bind

_A/N: There are different terms for "solitary" depending on why you're in there. I'll be using their abbreviations in this story because that's how they're referred to in the real world. Usually, the collective unit is referred to as SHU or the "Special Housing Unit"._

_Administrative Segregation: "Ad Seg" - it differs depending on the state, but usually this is a short term place for inmates who have non-violent policy violations (refusing to work, disobeying orders, etc.) It's also where they put people who need protection from the general pop (population), such as cops and high-profile criminals. Usually you have visitation privileges._

_Disciplinary Segregation: "D-Seg" - for violent or deranged people who need to be removed from general pop. More what people think of as "the hole"._

* * *

_A friend is the one who comes in when the whole world has gone out.  
_~Grace Pulpit

* * *

Saturday, August 3rd

* * *

It was the light that drove him nuts.

He lay on the inch thick, threadbare mattress, staring up at the light bulb behind the safety grate in the ceiling, waiting for the ding-dang thing to flicker. If he hadn't still had a decent grasp on his sanity, he would have sworn the damn thing was sentient. It would only flicker when he finally looked away.

Maybe the guards had it on a switch and just liked to mess with their minds, laughing to themselves in their little cubicle down the hall. Either way, the light seemed to have taken up quite a bit of his free time in the last five days since he'd been left in his little hole in the wall – to rot, he supposed, no one seemed to know or care how long he'd be there.

Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week...except on Tuesdays they were allowed to shower and visit a little concrete yard for some fresh air, at least according to the disembodied voice which inhabited Cell 5 to his left. Cell 7 was empty now, some guy named "Ratty" having been transferred out a week earlier. Enos didn't know where he'd gotten the nickname, but he'd heard scurrying sounds and the click of tiny nails on the concrete floor in the dark of night.

His darn coach had turned into a pumpkin and a bunch of rats... wasn't that some sort of story? One with a princess...

_An apple tree in full bloom, on the edge of the back 40... He'd climbed as high as he could, to the thinnest branch that would hold him. As the tree swayed beneath him in the wind, he'd fancied he was the captain of a great ship – the waves rocking the boat, the breeze a salt spray against his closed eyes, until a soft whimper had startled him from his daydream. He'd turned around to find the girl clinging fearfully to a branch behind him, her little arms criss-crossed with scratches, shivering with fright. He'd coaxed her onto his back and shimmied down the tree, planting her safely on the ground once again._

"_Daisy Mae, what in th' world were ya' doin' up there?" he'd demanded. "You coulda fallen!"_

_She'd stared up at him, her eyes wide with innocence and brimming with tears. "But...I wanted t' be where you were!"_

And now he was thinking about Daisy, dang-it! He rubbed his eyes. As much as he was sure he could wile away entire days immersing himself their past, he'd rather not. It was never a daydream that ended well in the real world, and he just didn't have the heart to lie to himself. Not today.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a guard rapped on the bars behind him.

"Hey Strate, you gotta visitor." Enos recognized the voice and turned around to see Officer Morty Kellogg standing outside the cell.

"Officer Kellogg! I'll be, it sure is good t' see a familiar face." He hopped off the bunk and walked over to the door.

The officer glanced him over. "They said you'd run into some trouble, but they didn't say how bad it was. How's th' eye?"

Enos felt gingerly around the top of his left cheekbone. "Oh, it's alright since th' swellin' went down." He turned around and stuck his hands through the slot in the door to be handcuffed. "I don't know why th' heck they tossed me in th' hole, though. I wasn't even th' one doin' th' fighting."

The cuffs on, the door opened and he turned back to the officer who was looking at him in confusion.

"They told ya' you were in here for f_ightin_?"

Enos shrugged his his shoulders. "They didn't tell me nothin', just brought me here left me. Ain't a one of 'em said more than two words t' me all week."

"Damn fools!" the officer groused, before looking apologetically at Enos. "You ain't in th' hole, Strate, you're in Administrative Segregation. D-Seg's SHU North."

Enos frowned.

"For your protection," Morty explained, as he led them down the hallway. "As I heard it, you were s'posed t' be in Ad Seg in th' first place instead of general population since you're a cop, but we ain't got enough beds t' go around, so sometimes it don't always work out like it should. I'm real sorry ya' got jumped."

"It could've been worse," Enos said, brushing it off. "So, this is where I'm gonna be while I'm here?" He thought of his stuff up in his other cell, not much, but he had paper and a pencil and a stamped envelope.

"I can't promise ya' that," he said, shaking his head. "Someone more important comes along, they'll move ya' back out. If they do, you stick to yer guns. They ain't gonna put you in D-Seg for fightin' unless ya' go after a guard. There ain't enough room for that."

"Alright, well...thanks for clearin' it up."

"Not a problem." They were in the visitation area now, but Morty bypassed the holding cell Enos had waited in the previous week. "At least you don't have t' wait in th' holding area if you're Ad Seg," he said.

Enos had a moment of panic. He'd assumed his visitor was Gary, come to lay more bad news on him no doubt, but this was the public visitation area. He'd thought it was Sunday... Had he made up an entire day? The thought was more than unsettling, it was downright scary.

"You're in eight."

He walked over to cubicle number eight, his palms sweaty, wondering who had come. Surely not the whole gang again – that was an awful long piece to drive just to see _him_.

She was looking down and so he saw her first and had an extra moment to school his surprise. Daisy looked up as he sat down on the other side of the plexi-glas, but he watched the key as it turned in the handcuffs, so as not to see her reaction to the bruises he couldn't hide and wouldn't be able to explain away with clumsiness.

The cuffs dropped off and he took the receiver from the wall, only then meeting her eyes. What he saw surprised him. He had expected pity – not anger.

"What is _that_?!" she demanded, without preface.

He felt a moment's twinge of guilt, not for making her angry, but for actually enjoying it. It was far better than pity or the superficial play-acting he'd been used to for so long from her.

"What's what?"

"On your face! Enos...what happened? If someone's been -"

"Daisy, it's prison, an' I'm a cop." What else could he say? "Don't worry, it looks worse'n it is."

She banged her fist down on the steel counter in front of her. "I'm gonna go straight over t' those quacks at th' GBI an' give 'em a piece of my mi-"

"Daisy, would'ja calm down? There ain't nothin' they're gonna do about anything that happens in here, an' if ya' go stirrin' up trouble, you're libel t' make things worse. Just...just forget it. What'd you come for? You know I don't want ya' seein' me this way."

To his consternation, she only got angrier.

"You lied t' me!" she said, pointing her finger at him.

He shook his head in confusion. "What in th' world are you talkin' about?'

"You told me you'd be outta here in no time," she reminded him. "You didn't tell me you'd already been t' that...that arrangement-"

"-_arraignment_?-"

"-thing! You didn't say nothin' about your trial not bein' until September, or that your bail got denied!

"Look, I'm awful sorry, Daisy. I just didn't want you t' worry over me."

"What I wanna worry about's my own business!"

He fought the urge to hang the receiver up. When was she ever going to just let things go? If she'd driven two hours to gripe at him for not telling her he wasn't getting out soon, she could just stop wasting her time.

"Look, Daisy, I don't want t' talk about that..._please_? For fifteen minutes, I'd like t' think about somethin' else than steel doors an' concrete walls. _Please_, Daisy."

His plea stopped her cold as she realized what she must sound like. "I'm sorry, Enos," she said, with some embarrassment. "I'm not doin' a very good job of cheerin' ya' up, am I?'

"Don't be sorry. Just...tell me what you did this week."

"This week?" She'd spent the week being mad at him. "Not much, really."

"Daisy, your week had to be more interesting than mine."

Her glance fell again on the blackened skin beneath his eye, but she didn't argue with him. "Well, um, I paid your rent."

"Oh, good. I's worried there wouldn't be enough in just one jar t' pay it."

Her eyes flicked back up to his, dumbfounded. "Enos, your rent was only $75. Exactly how much money have you sent your mom?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I lost count after th' Academy."

"You've been sendin' her money since you were in the _Academy_? No wonder you were always broke."

"Well, I didn't figure I was using it for much myself, an' she had th' mortgage t' pay. All I worried about was havin' gas an' tires for th' next race." He grinned, remembering.

Daisy laughed. "You shouldn't've stopped racin'. I remember when you were sixteen an' you'd light up like it was Christmas before a race. You used t' love it."

He sighed deeply, a far away look in his eyes. "It... No, I don't know. It was a long time ago."

"An' all th' trophies you won," she continued. "Gosh, Enos, you must've had a shelf-full! I didn't see 'em when I was at your apartment last year."

"No, they're...not there. So's it rained, yet?" he asked, changing the subject.

She tilted her head, thinking back over the past week. "We got enough t' wet the ground on Tuesday. Dried up as soon as th' sun shone on it, though..."

Enos watched, concerned, as she grew uncharacteristically quiet, staring past him at a point on the wall, lost in a memory he couldn't see and couldn't fathom the nature of. Something in her look - the subtle cues in her face, prompted memories of a past long gone and nearly forgotten - of a time when he didn't need to ask if something was wrong, he just_ knew_.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered what she'd heard at Rhuebottom's where she'd gone after she'd paid his rent. Just small town talk, but still... She shook her head and almost lied, but then thought better of it. This was what he _wanted_ to hear. He wanted to know about home, good or bad.

"I overheard Arthur Sills talkin' to Mr. Rhuebottom th' other day. He says th' corns got ears, but there ain't but half a dozen kernels on any of 'em."

It would be a trivial fact to some, to those who didn't understand life in the Blue-Ridge Mountains. To them, such a dramatic and heart-felt response to that knowledge would seem a strange thing indeed, but generations of Strates and Dukes had lived in the hills for as long as most people could remember. There wasn't a moonshiner's son or daughter who hadn't seen the effects a bad year could have on the less fortunate around them, and Daisy and Enos were no exceptions. As far removed as Enos was from the hills, his father's blood still flowed through his veins - and there were things that once seen could never be forgotten.

"I knew it'd be bad," he said.

"It's gonna be worse, come winter."

"It always is, hun."

Daisy twisted the phone cord nervously, and he knew that there was more she hadn't said.

"That ain't th' worst," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Couple days ago, Sheriff Little came across a family up in Northeast Chickasaw...the woman's sister out in Texas had gotten a pretty strange letter from her a couple days before so she called in, worried about 'em, you know?"

He nodded, instinctively knowing where the story would lead, just not it's path.

"There was a note," Daisy continued slowly, recounting the news. "Th' fella... He'd left a note on their table..." She sighed and rubbed her temple. "Poor Sheriff Little. I can't imagine what it was like t' find 'em. They were all dead...him, an' his wife, an' their four kids. All tucked into their beds..." She brushed at the tear that slipped down her cheek. "Rosco said they probably took strychnine."

He could see them – those children, as she had no doubt imagined them, lying silent and still in their beds. Had they know they'd never wake to see the sun? He couldn't understand how anyone could harm a child, no matter what the circumstances. Better to leave them at the orphanage than... He felt a stab of righteous anger. Whyever would Rosco or Sheriff Little have told _Daisy_ such a thing?

"I'm sorry, Daisy." And he was. It wasn't fitting for her to hear stuff like that.

She shook her head. "No, Enos_, I'm_ sorry. I don't know why I told ya' that. I just...it's been botherin' me since I heard it, an' you...well, you've seen...you an' your father."

"We saw a lot of things," he said, quietly.

His father had been a ridge-runner, the best in the hills, and in the springs he would take Enos with him out into the backwoods to take run orders from the other moonshiners. Enos had seen enough poverty and hardship to last him a lifetime and understand why his father didn't want him to follow in his footsteps.

"I've got five minutes by the timer," she told him.

It was only then he realized she had been there far longer than fifteen minutes. "How long did they give you?"

She smiled. "It's just me, so I got 30 minutes. You get three visitors at fifteen minutes a piece, but if you only have one, they can use the whole time. They said you already had one visitor this week. Some Gary or another."

"Oh, he's my lawyer." Funny, he didn't remember seeing him this week.

She brightened. "Great! Maybe he'll be able to clear all this up!"

He grunted non-committedly. "My cell-mate said Atlanta's public defenders ain't got sense enough t' pound sand down a rat hole. I guess we'll see."

"You're innocent, Enos," she reminded him. "It'll be okay, I promise. Until then, I'm gonna come by every Saturday an' keep ya' company."

He couldn't help but laugh at her determination. "Well, alright. But Daisy?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I'll always listen to ya' if you need someone t' talk to, but...can ya' maybe think of some happier things t' go along with them sad stories?"

The buzzer sounded.

"I'll think of somethin' Enos, I promise ya'." She turned and saw the guard walking towards her. "I gotta go, sugar." Her eyes once again strayed to his injuries. "Be careful, Enos."

"I will. Thanks for comin', Daisy."

He watched her until she disappeared around her side of the cubicle and sighed. It had been the most serious conversation they'd had in fifteen years.


	14. The Way Things Are

_Bad is never good until worse happens.  
_~Danish Proverb

* * *

Tuesday, August 6th

* * *

Enos picked at the fake woodgrain laminate on the table in the interrogation room, waiting for Gary to appear. He wasn't sure why the guy bothered coming, he'd told him twice that he wasn't interested in taking the plea bargain the DA's office was offering, and yet, here he was again. At least it got him out of yard call, and he reckoned that was worth hearing him go over the facts against him one more time. In fact, if he could stretch it out, he might miss the whole yard time altogether and after the last go around, he thought that might be the wisest choice of action.

Sunday, the day after Daisy's visit, he'd been escorted out of Ad Seg and back up into general population, this time in a different cell with a different cell-mate. Toby Debbins made him wish he was in Seg again. No two ways around it, the guy was creepy. He was past middle age, with a gut that looked twice its size hanging over his pencil thin arms and legs, balding with a round, babyish face. He sat on his bunk most of the day, staring into space and muttering about someone named "Donna".

Enos didn't know who Donna was and was even less interested in finding out how Toby had come to know her. The only time the man had taken notice of him was to ask if he'd heard anything about "the rebellion". Officer Kellogg told him the cops had found a half eaten torso in the guy's freezer, and ever since then Enos had had trouble sleeping at night, fearful he'd wake up with ol' Toby munching on him.

He sighed and tapped his handcuffs absently on the table. The door opened and Gary came in – or rather barged in – with a look on his face like he could spit nails. His expression made Enos think of Daisy's anger, and he wondered what in the world had gotten into his lawyer.

The man said nothing, but strode over to where Enos was sitting and slammed a piece of paper down in front of him. "You mind tellin' me what th' hell this is?" he fumed.

It was a mimeographed copy of a letter. A letter that Enos, in all fairness, had completely forgotten about.

_When it rains, it pours..._

"Looks like a letter." That was bad, he thought, as soon as he said it. Heck, it was tantamount to lying, he knew darn well what it was.

Gary stared icy daggers at him. "Don't play stupid with me, Strate. The State's hand-writing expert took one look at this next to one of your reports an' knew who'd written it in less than a minute."

"I forgot about it," Enos said, sheepishly.

"You forgot that you wrote a dead man's girlfriend a letter from him explaining why he wouldn't be around anymore?"

Enos slammed his fist down on the table. "He wasn't' dead! An' I wrote th' letter 'cause he wasn't the kind of person who would've given Daisy a reason for skippin' town. I didn't want her t' worry about him."

"No, you wanted her to know the guy was cheating on her so she'd come crawling back to_ you._"

Enos had to admit there might be some truth in that, as bad as it sounded. "That doesn't mean I killed him."

"I looks pretty bad from where I'm standin'," Gary told him. "An' that ain't th' half of it. The DA's office pulled the plea bargain. They figure with the letter they've got more than enough to make you ride th' lightning."

* * *

Daisy twisted the phone cord anxiously around her fingers as she listened to yet another lawyer hem and haw about the fundamental problems of People vs. Benjamin Enos Strate.

"_But sir_-"

She heard a 'click' as the connection was severed and closed her eyes against the disappointment. It had been the last in a long string of lawyers she'd called beginning at 8:00 Monday morning and now, on Thursday afternoon, she still had nothing to show for her troubles.

A fine kettle of fish it was – Enos had plenty of money to pay a lawyer, and yet no one would take his case. They seemed to fall into one of two categories – those who didn't feel capable of going up against the State at trial and those who didn't believe Enos had a snowball's chance in Hell of winning one.

To _high-profile_. That seemed to be the catch word of the day.

His face had been splattered across every two-bit newspaper and gossip rag in the state. Not to mention she'd had to have Bo and Luke drop her off at work and go in the back door to the Boar's Nest everyday for the last week to keep from answering questions from seedy reporters about what the tabloids sensed must have been some scandalous love affair between herself and Enos...all ending with him killing Darcy – of course.

It made her want to scream. If everything could just go back to the way it was...

She sat the phone down on its hook just as Uncle Jesse came into the kitchen. It was no use hiding it from him, he would be able to see the despair no matter what she said, so she simply turned to him and gave him a sad smile.

"No luck?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet," she said, taking a deep breath. "I just don't understand it, Uncle Jesse. I mean, I always thought a person was innocent until proven guilty."

"Well now, I reckon they are," he replied.

"Not according to-" she looked down at the number she'd just called, "-Aldus Brown, Attorney-at-Law. Apparently you're only as innocent as the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_ thinks you are." Her eyes took on a far-away look. "Who'd of believed it? Enos bein' too big of a name for any of these fancy lawyers t' take on, just 'cause he's a deputy." Her gaze settled back on her uncle. "They're all a bunch of crooks, that's what!"

"He's got that public defender feller, Gary, at least," he reminded her. "It's his job t' do his best to defend him."

"Yeah, well, I've seen how well he's been _defendin_' Enos," she griped, tapping her finger against the newspaper on the table. "Th' papers said he_ 'regretted that Mr. Strate didn't take the plea agreement offered by the State'_. That doesn't sound like help t' me! At least Enos didn't take it."

A slight smile crossed Uncle Jesse's face. "If it's one thing he is, it's stubborn," he said. "Reminds me of someone else I know."

She smiled. "Well, I ain't givin' up, if that's what you're asking."

"You've got th' Duke constitution, Daisy. I don't believe you will."


	15. Bo and Luke Bait a Trap

_A/N: The character of Wallace Monroe and his gang was created by Enos'sGal in her fanfiction, **The Diaries of Circle M Ranch.**_

_As always, thanks to everyone who reviews and especially to the members of the Enos Strate Appreciation Foundation forum for all their support._

* * *

_"...When the days have been stripped of their meaning and purpose and we exist only in physicality, life becomes a poor imitation of death."  
_-Anonymous juvenile-detention inmate

* * *

Wednesday, September 4th

* * *

For Enos, the weeks passed slowly in stir – nights without dreaming and days without living, and nothing but his memories to keep him company. The ones that burned the brightest were of the days when he was younger – of fixing up the old race car with his father and fishing in Hazzard Pond with Daisy, Luke, and Bo when they were kids. More recent memories seemed fuzzier and somehow less clearly defined, perhaps because he'd made a habit the last ten years of not getting enough sleep and working fourteen hour days, surviving on little but coffee and take-out food.

Enos supposed you never knew what you'd been missing until it was no longer there for you to miss.

Daisy, true to her word, had come by every Saturday for the past six weeks. Sometimes she would bring the _Hazzard Gazzette_ and read to him the happenings in town. He had noticed she never brought the front page though. He'd asked her about it, a couple of weeks ago, to which she'd given him a look that had told him without words all that he'd needed to know.

_He_ was the front page news.

To her credit, she never mentioned his bruises or split lips which would invariably change position from week to week. But she saw them nonetheless, and the shine of unshed tears in her eyes was almost more than he could endure. Then she'd take a deep breath and flash him a beautiful smile and tell him all about the life and world he'd left behind.

Her presence in his bleak and perilous time behind bars inexorably drew him to her...and that made it all the worse. The day would come, he was certain, when she would miss a Saturday because some drifter had swept her off her feet. He refused to daydream about her.

* * *

Thursday, September 12th

* * *

"Daisy, I swear, you ain't put that thing down since you got home with it," Luke said, pointing to the new Polaroid camera Daisy was fiddling with while her supper got cold.

"What th' heck did ya' go an' blow all your tip money on a camera for anyway?" asked Bo, "Why, you coulda bought th' General some new brake pads instead. Specially seein' as how you about ground them down to a nub the other day swervin' to miss Mr. Harris' cow standin' in th' middle of the road."

Daisy raised her eyes from her acquisition long enough to let both of them know just how little she cared about their opinion on the matter. "I didn't use all of my tip money, Bo, an' cows ain't supposed t' be in th' middle of th' road."

"Yeah, well, if you'd been payin' more attention to drivin'..."

"I was!" she snapped back. "You weren't even in th' dang car, so just how would you know anyway?"

"Would you two cut it out?" griped Luke. He stared silently at Daisy for a moment, making her feel uncomfortable. "Bo's right, Daisy. You ain't been yourself lately. Have them reporters been comin' into th' Boars' Nest again?"

"No, Boss threatened t' have Rosco arrest 'em if they stepped foot in th' door without buying any beers again." A yawn caught her by surprise. "I'm just tired, is all."

Uncle Jesse, who preferred to remain out of most arguments between the three cousins, reached over and patted her hand. "Why don'cha relax this weekend instead of drivin' down t' Atlanta? I'm sure Bo an' Luke wouldn't mind keepin' Enos company for a change."

Both her cousins turned back to her. "Shoot, why, we wouldn't mind that at all, Daisy," said Bo.

"Uncle Jesse's right, Daisy," said Luke, "it'll give you a rest, an' I'm sure Enos would understand."

Through it all she'd been shaking her head. "No, I'm not gonna let him down. He's countin' on me t' keep him up with what's happening in town."

"That ain't nothin' Luke an' I can't do."

She picked up the camera and scooted her seat back from the table. "No, I'm goin' t' Atlanta on Saturday. 'Sides, the camera's for Enos...I was gonna take some pictures of some of his favorite places for him, and seein' as how it's already Thursday, I'd better get started."

Luke regarded her doubtfully. "I don't know, Daisy, that might not be a good idea. I mean, what if it makes him feel worse 'cause he can't be there?"

"That's ridiculous, Luke," she said, dismissing the idea. "Look fellas, I appreciate what you're tryin' t' do, but...it'd make me feel worse not t' go."

They watched as she got up and left the kitchen without touching hardly a bite of her supper.

Luke sighed. "She needs t' take it easy, Uncle Jesse. I swear all she does is worry about visitin' Enos on Saturdays, and walks around in a fog th' other six days of the week. She's gotta stop feelin' guilty about him bein' where he is. Whatever happens, it wasn't her fault."

"I'm not so sure she believes that, Luke," said Uncle Jesse. "Besides, she's worried about havin' t' testify at th' trial since that guy from the DA's office served her with that subpoena. I wish she could find somethin' t' take her mind off of it for a little while, though."

* * *

The General Lee idled choppily where Bo had pulled it over beside the curb at Hazzard Square. There was nothing to do at that moment so he and Luke were girl-watching – an activity they tried to partake in at every given opportunity.

At the moment, they were arguing over Mary Beth Patterson versus Myrtle Jane Wilson, whom neither had had much luck with in the past, but a boy could dream.

"I swear, Bo, she'll end up like Lulu Hogg in twenty years, th' way I saw her eatin' at th' fair last year. Sides, you can't hope t' be pretty for long with a name like Myrtle." Luke shuddered. "Why you pick out th' ugliest girls in town, I'll never know."

"I think it's about time you get your eyes checked, old man. Mary Patterson's got some sort of a growth on top of her neck that you're confusin' for a face. Sides, she don't go by Myrtle, she goes by Jane."

"Ugly all th' same."

"You're just jealous she turned ya' down."

"That was in th' sixth grade, Bo. I've long since moved on to greener pastures."

"Th' pasture may be green, but you step in every cow pie you find along the way."

"Bo, you're-" Luke stopped and narrowed his eyes as he looked through the windshield. "Is that who I think it is?"

Bo followed his cousin's line of sight. "Why, ain't that that Texas Ranger fella...what was his name?"

"Jude...Jude Emery. It's gotta be him!" Luke turned to Bo, a sly smile on his face. "You know, Uncle Jesse wanted somethin' to take Daisy's mind offa Enos bein' in jail. Maybe she needs a some_one_ t' take her mind off of it."

"Hey, you're right. They did hit it off pretty well when he was through here before, didn't they?" he said, with a laugh. "Say, why don't we ask him over for supper?"

"That's a good idea. We can fill him in on what's goin' on with Daisy, too."

The two climbed out of the General and ran over to the Sheriff's Station where Jude had gone moments earlier.

He was talking with Rosco who towered above him from behind the booking station, showing him a paper. Rosco spotted the cousins as they entered, a sneer already painted on his lips.

"Alright, you riff-raff," he called out, "just turn around an' go th' other way. I've got more important problems than whatever it is you've come t' bother me with."

"Hello t' you, too, Rosco," said Luke, otherwise ignoring his remarks.

At the Sheriff's words, Jude turned around and flashed them a bright smile. "Well hey there, fellas! Didn't expect t' see ya' so soon. What'cha been up to?"

"Nothin' much, Jude," said Luke, shaking the hand Jude offered. "Fact is, we were about t' ask you th' same thing. You're a heck of a long way from Texas again. Everything okay?"

"Oh well, I'm after th' Monroe gang," he said. "Wallace Monroe's on our most wanted list on account of some field agents who showed up dead while they was stakin' him out." He handed Luke the wanted poster he was holding.

"Looks like a real winner," said Bo.

"Not someone you want t' mess around with, that's for sure," Jude agreed. "You two see him, you holler for help. Don't try t' take him on."

"You think he's in Hazzard?"

"No, probably not. He was spotted in Atlanta last week but moved on before we could catch up to him. He's got contacts in Knoxville, so we're checking all the highways between here and there on the off chance someone's seen him."

Luke shook his head. "Doesn't look familiar t' me, but we'll keep our eyes out for him."

"I'd be mighty grateful for that."

"Before ya' run off," Luke continued, "we'd like t' invite you out for supper. I reckon it's probably been a while since you've had a good home cooked meal."

"That'd be real nice, fellas, but I'll have t' take a raincheck. I've gotta be up in Bryson City later tonight." He thought for a minute. "I'll be comin' back this way on Monday," he said. "How's about I stop by then?"

Bo thumped him on the back. "That'd be just fine, Jude. I'll tell Daisy an' Uncle Jesse."

"You do that, Bo...specially Daisy."


	16. Beyond These Walls

_~ A picture is worth a thousand words, but the memories are priceless. ~  
_

* * *

The sound of water surrounded her – a thousand thundering horses rushing through the riverbed below, crashing over the rocks and against the pilings of the old railroad bridge where Daisy sat, several stories above the raging river. Beside her rested a canvas bag which held her newly acquired camera and two developed Polaroids.

She tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. The air was different up here in the hills – fresher, cooler, with undertones of evergreen and moss, a change from the fields to the south and from the farm where the dust had conglomerated into drifts along the ditches of the barren landscape.

It was one reason Enos loved it so much.

She opened her eyes and leaned past the edge of the railroad ties where they overhung the Chattahoochee River, her hands resting against the smooth timbers, swollen with years of spray thrown up from the rapids in the rainy seasons. The water level was lower than average with the lack of precipitation, the edge of it drawn several feet back from the banks, uncovering limbs and rocks hitherto obscured which now lay forlornly in the partial sunlight, draped in moss and dried algae.

It was a beautiful spot...but this had always been _his_ special place, not hers. Rarely had she been this close to his house in their younger years, but the old L&N trestle bridge was only half a mile from the Strate homestead.

Daisy leaned back once more against the railing which divided the asphalt road from the only visible reminders of the bridge's true history. She'd heard stories when she was little of the time when the Louisville and Nashville Railway ran through the hills here on its way up to the mines of Choctaw County at the turn of the century when silver was booming and the depression was just another name for a dip in the road.

Her eyes strayed the length of the bridge to the last bent of the frame which jutted out another three and a half feet beyond the edge of the ties, like a pirate's plank out over the roaring river. Her heart jumped queerly in her chest, for it was the ghost of fifteen year old Enos which her mind's eye produced, standing at the end of that bent...

How he'd gotten himself out that far with his fear of heights, she didn't know- too wrapped up in his father's death to pay much attention to what he was doing, she supposed. He hadn't talked about it, past being upset with her for risking her own neck to pull him back to solid ground that day, but his near death experience had at least awoken his will to live. She mused that despite all that had changed between them, that had remained a constant – his inability to let anyone help him when he really needed it. He might call it not wanting to bother anyone – she called it being stubborn.

But something had changed, somewhere along the way. The boy who had once seemed to be the other side of her soul, who had joked with her and teased her... _flirted_ with her...had grown into a man who could barely look her in the eye. He had become shy and reticent, and sometimes she wondered if she hadn't dreamt up the first fourteen years of her life.

* * *

Enos sat on the cool, concrete floor of his cell, scratching at the paint on the iron bar in front of him. What had started out three days before as merely an idle observation – the top coat of beige paint on the bars had begun to peel off in quite a few places, revealing a sickly green color underneath – had evolved into a full fledged obsession by the time Friday had rolled around.

_What's on the schedule today boys an' girls? Paint-peeling! Sure to make those hours fly by!_

Enos laughed aloud. The sound ratcheted hollowly around the enclosed space and echoed off the bricks - sounding just a little too creepy for his tastes, though he figured it would only be natural for the sound of his own voice to sound odd, seeing as how his communication six days a week consisted of saying "Thank you" three times a day.

He bent back to the task at hand. Nearly eight inches of iron bar shone through in institutional lime green now, and he congratulated himself on a job well done. Yesterday, he'd barely managed an inch before getting a sliver of old paint caught up under his fingernail. And ding-dang hadn't that felt just about like someone'd shoved a red-hot poker up under it? He thought maybe he'd discovered a new form of torture...death by paint splinter.

He wasn't crazy... _Not yet_, he reminded himself, and in fact the extracurricular activity was therapeutic. When he was fiddling with the bars, his mind fell into a soothing rhythm, thinking of nothing, engrossed in the tedious task at hand. It was when he wasn't wearing his fingernails down to bloody nubs picking off paint chips that he feared he might just be losing his mind. That was when he'd start thinking about that dad-gummed trial...or worse, thinking about a certain woman with hazel eyes and long brown hair.

Sometimes he would find himself sitting, staring at the wall, not knowing how long he might have been doing so but when at last he moved, his muscles would spasm from having sat so long in one place. At times, it seemed like there was no more than ten or fifteen minutes between lunch and supper. Like an senile old man, he was losing time. Shoveling sand into a bag with a hole in the bottom.

Such was life in isolation.

He'd been in Ad-Seg since a week ago the previous Monday, but this time he'd been proactive about his confinement. Tired of taking lumps in the Yard over the last six weeks, he had jacked a guy with beady little opossum eyes in the jaw for attempting to trip him down the stairs to breakfast. He hadn't meant to hit Possom-face as hard as he had, but the guy lost his balance and flipped backwards over the stair railing. Luckily, he hadn't hurt anything other than his pride, but the stunt had gained the attention of the warden and had landed Enos in SHU again for protection, which was perfectly fine by him. At least here he could finally sleep without the fear of being his cell-mate's midnight snack.

Days rolled by slowly, unremarked save for a small hash mark on the wall to remind himself which day it actually was. Life was on hold it seemed...waiting...

Except for Saturdays. Every Saturday, he woke with a pounding heart and sweaty palms, steeling himself for the inevitable disappointment that never came.

He wasn't sure what to make of Daisy's visits other than she felt sorry or guilty, or pitied him for what had happened...and yet...it didn't_ feel_ like that. It had been years – _decades_- since he'd felt as close to her as he did here, separated by 1/2" Plexi-glas in the middle of a concrete jungle. He tried desperately hard not to read much into it. She was a good person with a kind heart, and she probably would have visited Rosco or Cletus every week if it had been them.

They'd talked about everything under the sun it seemed, good and bad – except their own convoluted relationship. Like his bumps and bruises, that subject was taboo, and Enos found he didn't mind at all. The good days between them had been before all that – before he'd thought of her as anything other than his best friend, back when she'd worn jeans and sneakers and hand-me down flannel shirts from Luke.

At Fulton, there were no high heels, cut-off shorts, or low necklines allowed, and seeing her dressed more conservatively made it even harder to keep her out of his mind the other six days of the week. She looked too much and acted too much like the girl he'd fallen in love with so long ago.

* * *

By the time Saturday morning rolled around, Daisy had eight pictures tucked safely in a white envelope in Dixie's glove compartment. Had it not been for the circumstances surrounding the whole reason for them in the first place, she wouldn't have felt so guilty at the giddy rush of excitement over seeing what Enos thought of her handiwork. Shortly after 9:00, she drove past the razored fence which was starting to look far too familiar, and parked in the already crowded lot outside the Fulton County Visitation Center.

She forced herself to walk at a normal pace up the stairs and through the door, the envelope tight in her hand, knowing the wait would be long. There were already at least forty people sitting in the waiting area, and so she settled into one of the plastic seats and took the pictures out. Two were from the L&N trestle bridge and one each of Hazzard Pond, Miller's Pond, the Duke farm, Hazzard Square, a view from the ridge overlooking the hazy Blue-Ridge mountains, and one of the Choctaw County Speedway.

The first State Circuit race he'd entered had been at the Speedway, and she still remembered how his eyes had lit up when he'd seen the track with it's gleaming, white concrete barriers instead of the hay bales he was used to, the steeply banked corners, and the hard-pack that was so well groomed it shone like asphalt. He'd run himself ragged in practice, determined not to embarrass himself - or her, she suspected.

She glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall above the small television in the waiting area. It was Saturday, September 14th today, only a week and a half before the trial started. She'd picked Rosco's brain for information – usually a pointless task, but at least he had been able to tell her that Enos would be brought back to Hazzard County when court was in session.

It was a fact which had sent Boss into a tizzy since the actual courtroom had been used as an overflow to store Lulu's heirlooms for the last twenty years. He'd set up quite a fuss until the Georgia Judicial Council informed him that Hazzard County was the seat for the 9th Circuit Superior Court, and just because Judge Druten spent most of his time fishing didn't mean they weren't expected to keep up their facilities. If Hazzard was unable to accommodate a judge and jury, they could transfer the trial to Cherokee County in the 7th Circuit...at the cost of $350 per day. Boss had changed his tune pretty quick after that.

* * *

At last her turn for visitation came and Daisy gathered her things and made her way up to the desk. The guard on duty checked over her pictures, then looked back at her with a smile.

"Like th' one with th' mountains, Miss Duke," he said. "Took a vacation up in Gatlinburg couple years back. Pretty place."

"Thanks," she said, "I've been through Southern Tennessee before, but that was a long time ago."

"I'll get the pictures to him." He checked the clipboard he held. "Looks like you're in number ten t'day," he told her. "Mind the buzzer this week."

"I will," she smiled. "Thanks."

She slipped through the door into the room with the little dividers and the plexi-glas wall, and hurried down to the one with the number 10 on the corner. He wasn't there, yet. It was a minute, maybe more, before he sat down on the other side of the glass, flashing her a grin as a guard removed his hand-cuffs. In his hand, he held the envelope.

Daisy searched his face, relieved to see no new signs of trauma this week, only the slight yellowing of older bruises. That was the hardest part – looking past what others had done to him and would still do to him if they could get at him.

At least he fought back. She would have known he did even without seeing his bruised knuckles and elbows, simply from the look in his eyes. On other weeks, his smile would be grim as she noted his new injuries – but in his eyes there would shine a fierce sort of pride, perhaps because he'd made it past another week...or perhaps.._.perhaps_ because he'd _won_ the fight.

It was something new in him...or maybe it wasn't new at all, but something that he'd kept hidden under that unflappable cloak of cheeriness he always seemed to be infected with - a facade which had cracked a little more each time she saw him. In some ways now, he reminded her of how he was when he was younger - his personality a bit more raw and unrefined. It had been years since she'd seen any emotion from him other than impersonal politeness or flustered shyness.

Still, she was dreadfully afraid that the day would come when they would tell her he couldn't have visitors because he was in the medical wing. He was in Seg again now, so at least she could relax on that account, but he'd begun to zone out during their visits recently and she worried about the effects the 24 hour lock-downs were having on his state of mind. He never wanted to talk about it, and so she refrained from asking, but there had been many nights she'd laid awake in bed unable to sleep, worrying that something had happened to him that day.

He picked up the receiver as she did the same. "Hey Sugar," she said, happily. "You look better this week."

Enos snorted at her compliment. "Thank ya', kindly, Daisy. Must be th' new mystery meat they put in th' lunch sandwiches. Y' ever seen purple hamburger?"

She shook her head, grinning.

"Yeah, me neither. Guy down th' row said th' a city truck must've run over a purple people eater." He held up the envelope. "What's this?"

"Well, look an' see," she said, waving her hand at it anxiously.

He opened the envelope and took out the pictures, going through them one by one – slowly, putting each one at the end as he went to the next one. She watched his expression, an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach as his corners of his mouth twitched downward into a frown. Suddenly, he lay the pictures face down on the ledge in front of him, along with the receiver, and buried his face in his hands.

Luke's words came back to her, how showing him pictures of places he couldn't be would only make him feel worse. Why in the world had she done something so _stupid_? She felt her own tears close at hand as she knocked softly on the glass.

"Enos...Enos, I'm sorry...," she pleaded, not knowing if he could hear her or not. "Enos?"

After a short time, he raised his head, his eyes red and the anguish clear in his face as he picked the receiver back up.

"Enos, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, "Luke said not t' bring you pictures, an' I didn't listen to him. I'm so sorry...I didn't mean t' -"

"Daisy, I love 'em," he assured her, his voice rough. "I just..." He cleared his throat. "I just...miss...everything so dang much."

"It doesn't feel like home without you there," she said, sadly.

There was something missing in Hazzard - some piece of a puzzle which, however insignificant in her own life, threw everything else off-kilter. She found herself more than once glancing at the clock in the Boar's Nest at twenty after one, thinking that only two months ago Enos would have been strolling in on his lunch break and sitting down at the bar to order a buttermilk and listen to her complain about Boss or problem customers.

"Everything's gonna be fine, hun," he said. "Why I'll bet th' trial's over in a day or two."

She looked him straight in the eye. "Do you _really _believe that, Enos?"

He shrugged and gave her a sad smile. "I ain't got a choice, Daisy," he said. "If I start thinkin' different, I'm gonna go crazy."

They stared at each other silently for a moment, and she could read the doubt clearly in his face before he dropped his eyes from hers.

"I wish there was somethin' more I could do," said Daisy, softly. "I...I tried t' find you a different lawyer, but..." How could she tell him that no one would take his case? "but...it's...a big case."

He made an unamused grunt. "Most likely no one wanted t' go up against th' state," he said. "Don't worry about it, Daisy. Thanks for tryin', though." He turned the pictures back over and rifled through them. Finding the one he wanted, he held it up the picture of Miller's Pond. "I ain't seen _that _place in a long time."

"I tried t' remember the places you used t' go when you were a kid. I thought you used to fish it a lot."

He laughed good-naturedly. "Oh, I used t' fish there when pa' didn't want me goin' off too far. Caught more poison ivy than fish, though." He lay the picture back down and picked up the one of the Choctaw County Speedway. "Now _this_ one... That's a right pretty picture, Daisy."

She grinned and leaned closer as he spun out the tale of his first State Circuit race and how a scrawny sixteen year old orphan had managed to beat the pants off all the other guys.

"I was there, ya' know," she said, laughing at his embellished tale.

His eyes sparkled as a genuine smile spread across his face. "'Course you were, Daisy."


	17. Sins of Scarlet

_"What's wrong, dear sister? Did your world fall down?  
Did men misuse you and push you around?  
Same story, dear, year after year -  
pathetic men run.  
Oh, dear sister, trouble weighs a ton."  
_- Dan Auerbach

* * *

Monday, September 16th

* * *

The days of late summer gradually gave way to cooler temperatures and a relief from the drought that came too late to be of much consequence. On Monday evening, Jude had shown up at the Duke farm for supper as promised, full of tales of chasing after the Monroe gang and other of Texas' most wanted as he traversed the country. As the meal wound down to a close, darkness fell outside the little farmhouse.

"Daisy," said Jude as he stood up from the dinner table, "I think that was the finest batch of fried chicken I've ever eaten. I just might have t' convince ya' t' move a little closer t' Texas if you keep cookin' like that."

Daisy blushed and ducked her head, "Thanks, Jude." It was the only answer she could think of. Why was it she could never seem to say anything clever around the guy? She'd spent half of their meal staring at his deft movements as he was eating, wondering things that shouldn't be wondered at the supper table.

Bo and Uncle Jesse got up from the table as well, carrying their plates over to the sink. Daisy followed them, grabbing her apron from the handle of the icebox as she prepared to clean up the dishes, but Uncle Jesse took it from her hand and shook his head.

"We got company t'night, Daisy," he reminded her. " Why don'cha go an talk t' Jude for a bit before he's gotta leave. We'll do th' dishes for ya'."

Daisy glanced at Jude, with his striking blue eyes and chiseled features, and blushed again. "You're sure, Uncle Jesse?"

"Uncle Jesse's right, Daisy" said Luke. "You've been workin' too hard lately, always runnin' around doin' things for other people. It's time t' take a break. We'll take care of cleanin' up."

Jude came up beside her and hooked his arm around hers. "You heard 'em, Daisy. Come on, you need some fresh air."

"Well...alright, I suppose I've got time then." She grinned shyly up at the Ranger. "Maybe I'll tell ya' how t' make fried chicken."

He led her out the door and onto the porch, the screen smacking loudly against the frame as it closed. "I've got better things t' do than learn t' cook," he said, turning towards her. His arms circled her waist, pulling her closer.

"What kinds of things?" asked Daisy.

"Oh...all kinds..." he leaned down and captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

Daisy returned the kiss eagerly, blissfully lost in the sensation. For a moment, all the troubles and problems of the week slipped from her mind, replaced by a warm and hazy void in which there was only the lust for pleasure and longing for more.

At last he broke their kiss and backed up, looking smug and pleased with himself. "Tell you what, Daisy," he said, smoothly, "I sure would like t' see ya' before I have t' hit th' road. Why don't ya' meet me at th' Hazzard Hotel around lunchtime tomorrow?"

"I'd love to, Jude," Daisy said, dreamily. "But...you've gotta go right now? You ain't had any of my apple pie, yet!"

He gave her a quick kiss. "I've gotta go over some files before I head out tomorrow, so I'll have t' take a rain check. Sorry, Daisy."

"Oh, that's okay," she said, biting back her disappointment. "It was real nice of you t' come over t'night."

He grinned at her and tipped his hat before walking down the steps off the porch. He climbed into his flowered, topless truck and started the engine. "Don't forget about t'morrow!" he shouted to her.

"I won't!" she called back, waving at him as he drove down the driveway towards the main road. She watched until she could no longer see the brakelights of his truck in the distance before she turned and went back inside.

She fell asleep easily that night, thinking of the next day and the Texas Ranger with the deep, sexy voice and brilliant blue eyes, but as the night wore on and the hands of the clock turned slowly past the hours, her sleep became restless. She dreamt she was running through a crowd of strange men, their hands reaching out towards her, raking their fingers across her body as she tried to force her way through them. She woke, breathless and frightened, in the still of night – the nightmare forgotten but with a terrible feeling of being lost and very far away from home.

* * *

As soon as breakfast was cleared away the next morning, Daisy washed her hair and got ready for her lunch date with Jude. She rummaged through her clothes, trying to find something special – something she hadn't worn in a while. She finally decided on a pink satin camisole top, with tight matching shorts, and pink high heels.

A high, thready excitement hummed through her as she hopped into Dixie. It was early, just after ten, but to wait around would mean to endure snickers and grins from the boys and she was determined that nothing would ruin the day – at least not this early. Besides, Jude had said 'around lunchtime', not strictly noonish.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up next to the curb in front of the Hazzard Hotel. It's light pink brick facade seemed to glow in the light from the early morning sun. Though it dated back to the late 1800's, it was well kept, and the proprietor's son kept the wood trim painted regularly. If she had a nickel for every time she'd been here...but that wasn't polite talk, even in her own mind.

She stopped for a moment on the sidewalk, feeling the sunlight warm her shoulders, and looked up at the three sets of double windows. The curtains were all tightly drawn, their guests hidden away behind them in their little rooms. She pulled open the heavy wooden door and let herself inside. The smell of lemon oil from the old wood drifted in the air, and the jingle of a bell rang to announce her entrance, as an elderly man, mostly bald and wearing a white sun visor, tottered slowly out of the room adjacent to the front desk area and looked around.

"Hey, Mr. Murfree," said Daisy, flashing him a bright smile. "I'm lookin' for Jude Emery. Is he still here?"

The man gestured towards the banister with a frail, shaky arm. "He is, miss. Room six, second floor."

"Thanks, Mr. Murfree, I won't be long," she said, but the old man had already started back into the other room.

She climbed the stairway, stopped on the landing of the second floor, and took the hallway leading to the left down to room six. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as her heart raced with nervous anticipation, and knocked on the door. There was no answer.

She knocked again and waited, but still all was silent.

Jude had told them the night before that his contacts were hot on the trail of the Monroe gang and she wondered it he'd caught a break had to leave early. Disappointed, she turned to go just as the door behind her opened.

"Well, hey there, Daisy," greeted Jude. He leaned casually against the door frame, wearing the same trademark tight jeans as always, but now with a faded denim jacket over a yellow button-up shirt . "Y'ain't gonna rush off on me now, are ya'?"

"Jude!" she exclaimed, running back and giving him a hug, "Why, I thought maybe you'd had t' leave town already when ya' didn't answer."

He put his arm around her, sweeping her into the room as the door shut with an air of finality behind her. "Now, Daisy," he scolded, drawing her closer to him, "you know I wouldn't leave without sayin' good-bye t' you."

She blushed and giggled. "Well, I sure hope not. Did ya' get any news about th' gang you were chasin'?"

"No, no more news. That's why I've gotta head out this afternoon." His eyes roamed her body, but Daisy was used to such attention. "Has anyone ever told you you are one sexy lady?"

"Yeah, but you can tell me again, Jude," she suggested.

His hands settled on her hips as he pulled her against him. "I can do better than that," he murmured.

She closed her eyes as he leaned in, waiting... He didn't disappoint her and moved closer, covering her lips with his.

Daisy kissed him back enthusiastically, as she had the night before, her mind slipping away into that place somewhere between living and dying where nothing mattered but the here and now. Lovemaking had always been a sport to her, and one she was well versed in at that - a ritualistic dance of first this, then that, then the pleasant buzz of rushing desire, and... She moved her hands up, over his chest and under his jacket towards his shoulders, a slight moan of pleasure escaping her as he kissed her deeply. His body leaned into her own, pressing her back against the wall.

The ring on her right hand caught against something on his shirt, underneath his denim jacket. Her fingers explored it, running over the cool metal of the object, discerning its shape until her mind filled in the picture …

_A badge...  
_

As swiftly as it had come, her desire was gone. She bit back the surge of panic, unsure of what had happened or why everything about what she was doing...what she was _planning_ to do suddenly seemed so horribly wrong. She broke their kiss, drawing in a deep breath of air as though she were drowning, and would have stepped back except for the fact that she was between Jude's body and the wall. He took the opportunity to move his kisses down to her jaw and then further to her neck, his hands caressing her underneath her camisole.

She slipped to the right and ducked out of his embrace until she was standing beside him instead of encircled by his arms. "Hey, now, Jude," she said, trying to put on a good face. "I thought we were goin' t' lunch together. We'd best get movin' for it's all gone, sugar."

He turned towards her and laughed softly, "I'm sure they'll have somethin' left, Daisy" he said, huskily, "I thought you an' me were gonna work up an' appetite first."

He took hold of her upper arms and pulled her closer to him once again, his breath hot as his mouth moved down the side of her neck. The feeling, whatever it was, was stronger now - _demanding_ her to stop and a thought just beyond her grasp of understanding:

_I don't belong here!_

She felt as though she might just break down and cry as she angled herself once again out of his trajectory. "I...I can't, Jude. I'm sorry. Let's just go eat lunch..._please_?" She pushed him gently away and took a step back.

His eyes narrowed accusingly, and the features of his face she'd thought of as handsome and sexy only moments before hardened as though carved from a stone more cold and bitter than the winter wind. "What d' you mean you _can't_?" She trembled as he took a step forward towards her. "Baby, when a girl comes to a guy's door dressed like _that_, he knows what she's lookin' for, an' it ain't a free lunch."

To hear someone say it... what did he take her for? And yet, it was what it was. As the rational part of her mind fearfully dissected his insinuation, the other part – the one who still clung to the rules of the mating game raised her hand and slapped him hard. "Of all th' self-righteous bastards I ever met, Jude Emery," she screamed, "you're th' worst!"

He rubbed at his now red cheek with one hand and pointed to the door with the other. "Get outta here you hussy!"

Daisy ran to the door, threw it open, and slammed it behind her before running down the stairs, nearly knocking over an elderly couple on their way up. At last she burst out of the dimly lit hotel back into the bright sunlight, tripping over her own feet before clambering up into the driver's seat of her Jeep. She hit the curb twice before she found her lane of the road.

_I won't_ _cry_! Like a silent mantra, she repeated it, even as the hot, salty tears slipped down her cheeks, blurring the road in front of her. The Jeep wove unsteadily around Hazzard Square as she fought and lost to keep her emotions in check. In the middle of the road, she slammed on her brakes, and the car behind her erupted in a volley of honking as it swerved to miss rear-ending her.

She couldn't go home – not right now! If she showed up before lunch time, they would know something was wrong. She'd never hear the end of it from them, not until she confessed to them what he'd said to her, and there was no way in anyone would drag it from her.

Ever.

Instead of taking Mill Road that led out of town and back to the farm, she turned down Church Street instead and parked in the narrow alley that ran beside the one place no one would ever think of looking for her. Wiping her eyes, she grabbed her keys from the ignition, and ran around to the back door of the building and slipped inside.

It was an older house, the hallway leading into a common foyer paneled in polished cherry. The lights of two small chandeliers affixed to the ceiling glowed dimly, casting odd shadows across the dark wood. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor and so she took them off, creeping quietly through the Boarding House and up the stairs to Apartment four.

The landlady had given her a spare key when she'd come by to pay Enos' rent for August, asking if she would go in and check to make sure the thermostat was turned down and the water not dripping. Daisy fumbled on her key chain for it with trembling hands, almost dropping it before she was able to unlock the door.

A rush of stale air greeted her as she snuck inside the small apartment and closed and locked the door behind her. The room smelled musty and unlived in, and even the trace of Enos' after-shave that had lingered in the air on her previous visit had now disappeared. It made everything worse to think of him and where he was, and she collapsed onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow. She cried until the pain over what Jude had said was gone and then she cried even more because she thought that what he'd said might possibly have been true.

At last, the tears were gone, and all that remained was a dreadful, empty ache. She got up and shuffled through the kitchen and back into the small bathroom and flipped on the light. What looked back at her from the vanity mirror could have been a stranger – a woman she didn't know, with haunted, blood-shot eyes, dressed...like...like...

She slid down the wall behind her until she sat on the cool linoleum and pulled her knees up under her chin. He had no right to accuse her of -

_Of **what**?_ _Let's not mince words, Daisy_,_ you went there t' get laid, an' you know it. Why else would ya' dress like -_

"_STOP IT_!" she shrieked. "JUST STOP IT!" She clapped her hand over her ears in a vain effort to silence the voice inside her mind, but the truth had been said, and in her heart she knew it for what it was. She hung her head as the sobs once again racked her body, mourning for things she didn't understand - had _never_ understood. Things so far out of her grasp she'd run from the mere idea of them.

Her relationships with men had followed a vicious cycle for all her adult life, composed most days of a painful, gnawing emptiness and a shameful guilt over her former promiscuities, and the only place they dimmed were in the arms of another man. Most had been visitors just passing through, so as to not mar what little reputation she had in town - and yet the type of man who would take a nearly complete stranger into his bed was the same type who she meant nothing to afterwards...and so the worthlessness would come full circle again...and again... Like white-washing a rotten fence - the rot was still there underneath, and it would eventually eat through that new layer of paint she slapped on top of it.

But...that wasn't the_ original_ pain. It wasn't what had made her follow those kids down to that keg party at the lake that summer evening when she was only sixteen. Nor was it what had led her to the back seat of that boy's car that night. She knew the answer - she'd always _known_ - but it was an answer only insofar as she understood that it was the singular causative motivation, for with it brought memories she didn't want to face and feelings that hurt too much to remember.

There_ had_ been a boy that she had loved. And although she knew _now_ that she was the only one he had wanted, she hadn't known it then – _not that night_- after she'd seen him that day with his arm around another girl. How was she to know he'd only been protecting her from another guy who'd been pawing at her?

But she _hadn't_ known, or maybe she just hadn't read him right. Either way, it had been too late after that – after she'd given away her virtue to a boy whose name she couldn't even remember. How many men had she slept with since then?

The thought made her sick and she scrambled over to the toilet and vomited. She felt nasty and dirty and cheap and she could still feel the ghosts of Jude's hands running over her body. Still weeping, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the center knob until the water was just below scalding and sat down under the spray, the drops turning her skin a blistering red as it beat down upon her.

Eventually, the water cooled as the hot water heater emptied and Daisy stood up and shut it off, shivering. She pulled a towel out from below the sink and dried herself off, then wrapped it around herself and went back into the main living room, leaving the clothes she'd worn behind.

She pulled open the drawers of Enos' dresser, looking for anything that might fit. She settled for a blue flannel shirt, and in the bottom drawer were a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist.

And still...she felt those hands. Not just Jude's hands, but_ all_ their hands, crawling phantom-like over her skin. She threw back the covers of the bed and climbed in, pulling them up over her, over her head, hiding from the world and what she had become, and the scent of after-shave surrounded her as she cried herself into an exhausted sleep.


	18. A Fork in the Road

_Cherish the friend who tells you a harsh truth while wanting ten times more to tell you a loving lie.  
~Robert Brault_

* * *

Enos looked up at the blue sky – as blue and deep and beautiful as any he had ever seen, and wondered if the leaves had begun to change back home in the hills of Hazzard County. He could see no trees or grass from where he was – the yard time for those in the Ad-Seg unit consisted of fifteen minutes alone, staring at the sky from behind four twelve-foot high concrete walls with concertina wire around the top, and so the answer was left to his own imagination, which he hadn't been on the best terms with as of late.

Though it was still only mid-September, there was a noticeable coolness in the air, a hint of the changing seasons to come. His mind wandered to hay rides and pumpkin pies, the sound of wind rattling through the dried corn, shine-moons, and harvest time. Then later, the winter, decorating the Christmas tree with the kids at the orphanage and exchanging gifts on Christmas day at the Duke farm. He'd drawn Uncle Jesse's name this year...

He turned around to face the wall as his throat began to tighten, and beat against the rough bricks with both hands, hard enough to hurt himself and jar the thoughts from his mind.

* * *

The clock over the door to Enos' kitchen had read just shortly after 11:50 am when Daisy awoke, and she'd rummaged around under his sink until she'd found a trash bag into which she'd unceremoniously dumped the clothes she'd worn there along with her high-heels. She'd driven back home, trying out a dozen different ways to explain herself to Uncle Jesse and the boys, but in the end she didn't have to. They'd left a note saying they had gone up to Choctaw Supply for chicken wire and wouldn't be home until supper.

She tossed the garbage bag onto the floor of her room and went back down the hallway to the little bathroom. She flipped on the light and stared into the mirror. What makeup that had not been rubbed off in sleep or washed away by her crying had dried in ghostly black streaks from her eyes down the sides of her face and cheeks, marking the tracks of her tears in ghoulish rivulets. She turned the water on until it ran warm, dampened a washcloth, and scrubbed the rest of it off until all that remained were the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that she'd never outgrown and tried in vain to cover for years.

The clothes she'd found were too big on her, and exchanged the sweatpants for a pair of her own jeans instead, but the flannel shirt she kept – right now, she felt protected...boistered by it, as if some part of the man who'd worn it haunted it still.

Twenty minutes later, she tossed the trash bag, now full, back into the Jeep and climbed in. Unsure of where she was going or what she was doing, she drove slowly down the drive. The pain of earlier had worn off, covered again by a protective fog, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd just overreacted and that maybe she was being just a bit ridiculous.

Later, she would never be able to say just what it was that led her down Eagle Rock Road and towards Central City and Route 441 South, only that it was something deeper and more profound than had driven her home in the first place. It began with a thought – and the thought was that it was_ Tuesday._

* * *

"Hey Strate, you gotta visitor," a guard from the hallway behind him announced.

Enos groaned. If it was Gary again, he'd just as soon stay in his cell. The guy never seemed to have any _good _news. Only last week, he'd informed him that the GBI had discovered his flashlight down near the pond at the bottom of the ravine where they'd fished out a rusty Dodge Dart two months earlier. Enos could, of course, explain the flashlight. He'd left it on the trunk of Darcy's car that night and wasn't about to go back for it after he'd discovered it missing. Not that he really expected Gary to believe his story, Enos wasn't so sure he'd believe it either if he hadn't been there to know it was true.

The guard banged on the bars with his nightstick. "I don't get paid by the hour, Strate, so move it."

"If it's my dad-gummed lawyer, tell him I'm busy."

"If that girl's a lawyer, I'll trade places with you for a while."

_Girl?_ Enos rolled off the bed.

As the guard escorted him down towards the visitation area, Enos worried that something was seriously wrong back home. The only girl who would be here would be Daisy, but then, why was she here _today_? Visitors could only come one day per week, even if they hadn't used all your alloted time. Coming today would mean she wouldn't be able to come on Saturday.

He sat down in front of her in cubicle number two, studying her face as the guard unlocked his cuffs. She looked...okay...but it was her appearance that stumped him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her with no make-up. Not only that, but her clothes seemed oddly big on her.

Was that _his_ shirt?

She already had the receiver in her hand, a determined look on her face – not angry, he was relieved to note, but she looked like a person on a mission. He picked up his receiver, but had no time to even ask what was wrong before she began talking.

"Enos...you're...you're a guy."

_Only took you thirty years t' figure that out_, was his first thought, which he quashed. "Uh...Hi t' you, too, Daisy."

She ignored him. "Do guys...think... What do guys think of how I dress? Usually, I mean, not like...not like right now..."

Enos was beginning to think he might just be having one of those weird dreams again. Since when did she ask him about her clothing? "Uh well,...I reckon you'd be better of askin' Luke, Daisy, he's more qualified t' judge a woman's clothin' than..than I am."

"Luke's my cousin!" she griped, impatiently. "I can't go askin' _him_ what he thinks of how I dress!"

"Well what kinda question is that anyway?" he snapped back at her, wishing she'd quit being so dang obscure. Here he was, stuck in Hell, and Daisy was still talking around in circles. He was tired of playing "guess what I really mean" with her. "Why th' heck are ya' here on Tuesday askin' me what I think of how ya' dress anyhow?" He almost told her he had paint to peel off.

And now she was crying! _There_ – a tear ran from the corner of her eye, closely followed by another. She dashed them away in swift, angry, movements. "Never mind. I'm...I'm sorry...I shouldn't've come!" she said, clearly embarrassed.

Enos groaned, realizing he'd just made whatever the problem was worse. "Hold on, Daisy. Wait...look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean t' gripe at ya'. Shucks, don't cry...for goodness sakes, what's _wrong_?"

She didn't answer, just hung her head and hid her face behind her hands while her hair had fell down, obscuring her face. Nothing about this made any sense. Why would she drive two hours down to Atlanta on a Tuesday just to ask him what he thought of how she dressed... _Unless..._

"Who was it, an' what did he say?"

She mumbled something that he couldn't understand.

"Daisy..."

She looked back up at him, and his fingers twitched with an overwhelming desire to brush the tears from her cheeks. He couldn't remember a time he'd seen her so distraught, and it took a lot to bother Daisy.

"Who do people think I am, Enos?" she asked, mournfully. "_Really_?"

Her question baffled him. She'd always known her own mind and had no trouble speaking it, why all of a sudden did she seem so insecure? "Why, you're th' girl who lights up the room when you walk in," he said. "Th' one who's always givin' people the benefit of the doubt an' a second chance. You make...folks...feel like they're better people when they're around you."

_He means him_, she realized. _Is that what he sees in me? That I make him feel like a better person when he's around me?_ She wasn't sure she was comfortable with, or deserved, such a lofty status in anyone's life, but she knew Enos, and she knew he'd meant what he'd said.

"But that's what _you _think," she reminded him, "not everyone else."

He shook his head in disgust. "You've always sold yourself short, Daisy Mae. You oughta quit it, it ain't right."

"It doesn't feel that way," she murmured. "I think most people think I'm...well...," she gestured at her body, "that what ya' see is what you get. An' don't act like ya' don't know what I mean."

He stared at her as she looked down at the metal ledge in front of her, tracing invisible patterns upon its stainless steel surface, realizing that her question had a much deeper meaning than asking about her wardrobe. She'd gotten herself wrapped up in this idea that the only thing she had to offer a guy was something physical and today something had finally made her stop and think about it.

Not in all the time he'd been at Fulton had he hated that glass that stood between them with such a passion as he hated it now, watching as she sat there all alone, looking so small and fragile, unable to see beyond all the pettiness and lies that she'd been drawn into.

"It ain't _you, _Daisy – it's _them_. Any fella who won't give ya' th' time of day unless ya' dress like you're...like you're workin' at th' Boar's Nest, probably ain't worth wastin' your time over. So who was it?"

She found she _wanted _to say it – wanted to tell someone who wouldn't judge her. "Jude Emery – but it wasn't his fault," she added, quickly, "he just...he was right."

If she'd been looking at him, she would have seen his jaw clench in anger. "I figured a lawman's manners'd be better than that," he said.

There was a long pause – long enough that she raised her head back up to him. "I'm sorry he hurt you," he said, the tenderness in his voice nearly making her cry again.

She let out a deep sigh and shrugged, leaving Enos with the feeling that whatever Jude's ungentlemanly remarks had been, they weren't all that was on her mind. He nearly left it at that, fearing in the mental state she was in she might divulge some sort of sordid details of their encounter, but he supposed now he was in for a penny, in for a pound. He couldn't let her leave not knowing if she was okay. It would be sure to haunt him the rest of the week.

"Is there... somethin' _else_ botherin' you?"

She shrugged again, pulling the hair back away from her face and threading it behind her ear. "They subpoenaed me, you know...th' DA's office."

He hadn't heard anything about it from Gary, but he wasn't surprised. "I reckoned they would."

"I don't know what t' do, Enos," she said, worriedly, "I'm so afraid they're gonna twist what I say around an' make you look bad."

So that was it. He felt relieved that it was only about the trial and not something personal, though it was obvious that Daisy was taking it that way. "Just tell 'em th' truth, Daisy."

"Th' truth doesn't sound very good."

His heart skipped a beat. "You...still... _believe_ me...don't you? That I didn't kill him?"

"Of course I do!" she yelled, loud enough to make the receiver crackle with static and the guard look over at her. She lowered her voice, "Of course I believe you! Why in th' world would I think you'd killed somebody?"

"They've got a lot of stuff that makes it look awful believable."

"Don't say that," she told him, angrily. "You didn't do anything wrong. This time next month, you'll be home. I know you will."

He sighed and smiled back at her, letting her win. "I sure hope so," he said. It wouldn't do any good to tell her how worried he actually was, there was nothing she could do except loose sleep over it, and from the smudges under her eyes it looked like she wasn't getting enough as it was. That and she seemed awful moody, and he wanted to see her smile before she left.

He turned his attention back to her clothing, which was quite the distraction. A grin played across his lips as he regarded her warily.

She frowned when she noticed his expression. "_What_?"

He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand. "Is that my shirt?" he asked, and watched amused as her cheeks turned what he considered a rather fetching shade of scarlet.

"I...I needed t' change," she stammered, unaccustomed to him asking pointed questions, "an' your landlady gave me a key t' check th' thermostat when I paid your rent. I'm sorry...I'll wash it for ya'."

He laughed at her discomfort and shook his head. "You can keep it, Daisy," he said. "I'm sure it's happier where it is. Sides, you look awful cute."

"_Cute_?" She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, especially coming from Enos. In fact she didn't know if she'd ever heard him use the word. "Quit laughin' at me, it ain't _that_ funny," she griped, but her eyes shone with a mirroring humor. Why was it that no one could make her forget her problems like he could? She'd just about forgotten why she came here in the first place. "You didn't answer my question, by th' way, an' I really did want t' know."

Enos thought back to the beginning of their strange conversation. "Daisy, you're always beautiful," he said, with sincerity. "It's just...well...most guys like t' have a little more left to their imagination than you usually give us."

The buzzer sounded before she could reply, and she glared at it before looking back up to Enos. "I gotta go or Eugene's gonna come over here an' yell at me like he did last time," she said. "I'm sorry, I won't be able t' come Saturday now."

"That's okay. I'll be in Hazzard on Wednesday next week. I'm sure Rosco's visitation hours are more lenient than here."

"I'll see ya' then, sugar," she grinned.

"Bye, Daisy."

He hung up the receiver and watched her go, wondering exactly what had happened. Whatever it was had struck a cord deep within her, and Enos decided if he ever got out of here, he'd might just have a little talk with Jude Emery.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Hope everyone's day is beautiful. :) (((((Hugs)))))_

* * *

_"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.  
The mystic cords of memory will swell when again touched as surely they will be by the better angels of our nature."  
~Abraham Lincoln_

* * *

It was late afternoon before she drove past the sign for Hazzard County even though she'd taken the quicker route north up State Highway 32 West. More than once she'd looked down to find that she was only going 45 or 50 mph, poking along as her mind turned over all that had happened in the short span of seven hours and all that had been said – both by Jude and by Enos.

It had occurred to her, somewhere between Gainesville and Cornelia, that it was easy for her to accept _Jude's_ harsh words as true- not that they _hadn't_ been- and yet it was so much harder to listen to the good things that Enos had to say.

Enos was easy to brush off – perhaps because he had always put her on a pedestal and had stubbornly refused to take her off, no matter how much she had kicked him from it over the years. He was a glutton for punishment, and if he wasn't so dang stubborn, he could've – _should've_- settled down by now with some nice girl and raised a family behind a white picket fence. He was 33 for Pete's sake – what the hell was he was doing waiting around for a girl who couldn't figure out how to pass up a roll in the hay with every decent looking stranger that darkened her door?

Then she remembered Vivian – like a slap of reality in the face, and supposed Enos, too, had finally decoded the message that every local self-respecting male had gotten years ago. Run away. Far, far, away. She hadn't been asked on a serious date by anyone from Hazzard but him in years. Well, and Darcy...but that wasn't really serious, either now, was it?

It wasn't until after she was once again traveling down the dusty, unpaved roads of Hazzard that she made up her mind what to do. She didn't know if it was possible to start over – to try and heal some of what she'd robbed from herself, but unless something changed, she would never know.

She drove past the lower fields and farmlands of the county and pressed on, further up into the Chalk Hills area where the Duke's old still site was located. With the lack of rain in the summer and the shorter days, the leaves had already begun to turn – though the vibrant reds and oranges were a fair piece more brown this year than usual. The road was already littered with them, flying up behind the Jeep like skittish birds, flocked in a cloud of dust.

Two miles up Possum Creek Road, she parked where a steep hill rose up on the right side of the road and climbed out. Instead of heading off through the woods, she stayed beside the Jeep, still and listening for several minutes – a habit from her younger years when the revenuers had staked out the woods, watching for moonshiners. Finally, satisfied that she was alone, she grabbed the trash bag from the back of Dixie and started up the narrow deer trail that led around the right side of the rise.

The leaves rustled before her as small animals skittered to safety and squirrels scolded her from the safety of the oak trees along her path. At the top, she set down the bag and surveyed the area. Nothing much had changed since the last time she'd been up here two years ago. Uncle Jesse had never torn it down, though it hadn't run whiskey in over ten years. She kicked the rocks aside that held an old gray tarp over everything, then pulled it aside and wadded it up, wedging it into the crook at the base of a tree nearby.

They'd disassembled most of the works, the barrels once serving as the thump keg and the worm box now sitting neatly in a row off to the side, but the furnace and copper still on top looked the same as they had when she'd been a kid, largely due to the fact that it was on private property and moonshiners looked after each other. She knelt down in front of the stone base of the furnace and peered in to the darkness for a moment before reaching in and drawing out an old, rusty Lone Ranger lunch box. She gave it a shake, hearing an encouraging rattle before opening it up. Still there after all this time were a can of lighter fluid and a box of strike-anywhere matches.

She sat the lunchbox aside and chose four nicely aged logs, each about four inches in diameter, from the small woodpile to the side and arranged them in the base of the furnace, sprinkled them with lighter fluid, and then scraped together a couple large handfuls of leaves for kindling. She struck a match and dropped it in, scooting back quickly as the furnace blazed to life. The fire consumed the lighter fluid and dry leaves before settling down to a weak flame.

She tossed another handful of leaves in, then went over to the trashbag and tore a hole in the top. Taking out a handful of clothes, she chucked them unceremoniously into the fire. The cotton burned with a clear flame, but the ones made of polyester belched out a thick, black, foul smoke. She coughed and backed up, waiting until the flames died down before adding more items from the bag. Little by little, the most physical memento of the life she'd led the last fifteen years was reduced to nothing more than ash and twisted black char. The high-heeled shoes were in the bottom and she tossed them all in at once, stuffing the bottom of the furnace full as it hissed and popped as the synthetic material caught fire.

The crackling flames drowned out the sounds around her, though even if it hadn't, her mind was elsewhere. Rosco's voice in the woods to the right of her made her jump.

"Allllright, you Dukes!" he shouted, crashing through the underbrush. "_I'VE GOT YA_''! I _finally_ got ya'! I _knew_ you Dukes were makin' shine again and -"

Daisy watched as he came out into the clearing and stopped confused in mid rant, and sniffed the air.

"That don't smell like moonshine," he said, grimacing, "Smells like burnin' tires."

"I ain't cookin' moonshine, Rosco," Daisy told him, "an' unless there's somethin' illegal about makin' a fire in th' woods, you can just turn around an' go on back where ya' came from."

Rosco frowned. There was something wrong with her, or maybe it was just that everything wasn't _right _with her_. _Anybody who knew her could see that, but over the last couple months, Rosco had probably seen her more than most people had, outside of her family. It was rare that she didn't stop by before or after work to ask him if he'd heard any news about Enos' case or anything that the GBI might have been up to. He wasn't privileged to much information, but he did try to find out what he could. He'd convinced the GBI that Hazzard was running it's own investigation into some other allegations and if he got the right person on the phone, he could usually pick their brain more than he was supposed to be allowed to.

Now, here she was out in the middle of the woods, burning something that smelled like plastic, and he knew darn well none of the other Dukes knew she was here. Instead of leaving, he took off his hat and timidly stepped further into the clearing.

"Daisy, are...are y' alright?"

She didn't turn around from where she sat on the ground, facing the furnace. "I'm fine, Rosco."

"What're ya' burnin'?" He peeked around her, but couldn't tell anything about what was in the furnace. He gave up and sat down on a nearby stump.

"Why d' you wanna know?"

Her tone suggested she didn't care two shakes about what he thought. "Well I...I just want t' make sure you ain't...well..."

She turned. "That I'm not goin' crazy? Look, if you're gonna arrest me, you might as well get it over with – it's getting' dark." She gestured at the sky which had indeed begun to darken rapidly.

He watched her for a moment, a bit miffed at the concern he held for her – she was a Duke, after all. "I ain't gonna arrest you, Daisy."

After a last look at the fire which had now claimed the wood as it's fuel, she got up and dusted herself off and took a seat on another stump, a good six feet from the Sheriff. They sat in stilted, uncomfortable silence for a good five minutes, and Rosco was just about to get up and tell her to be careful to put the fire out before she went home, when she finally spoke.

"I'm worried 'bout havin' to testify."

Rosco looked up from his hands and over at her. "Yeah, I know. You an' me both."

"They subpoenaed you, too?" The evening had become too dark and the light from the fire too dim to see her expression, but he could hear the surprise in her voice.

"'Course they did." He'd tried to fight it – had even tried to act like the idiot most people took him for, but the DA hadn't backed down. He'd seen Enos with blood on his clothes the night of the murder an' he and his fool mouth had already made a statement about it back when he thought the GBI was onto him for a bogus insurance claim for the police cruiser hitting a deer - and damn but didn't that seem like a lifetime ago.

"What if... nobody believes him?" she whispered, urgently.

"I don't know, Daisy. I just don't know." He was glad for the darkness for he felt a suspicious dampness in his eyes and a lump rising in his throat at the thought of the deputy and what he'd gone through the last two months. He'd wanted to visit more, but Daisy had just about blown a fuse at him the last time. Especially after his stupid lawyer had signed in as a visitor that week and she'd been left with only fifteen minutes by Saturday. "He didn't do it, ya' know," he avowed, though he suspected he was preaching to the choir.

"I know he didn't."

"I miss him, though," he muttered. "Dang dipstick."

Daisy smiled sadly at the thought of finally having something in common with the Sheriff. "Me too, Rosco. Me too."


	20. Mimicry

_"I know the pieces fit,  
'cause I watched them fall away,_  
_mildewed and smoldering._  
_...The light that fueled our fire then  
has a burned a hole between us so  
we cannot see to reach the end..."_  
_-Tool_

* * *

On Wednesday, September 25th, 1985, the world -or at least a large portion of the Southeastern United States it seemed, came to Hazzard, Georgia. The blue jays and sparrows cried raucously from high above the rooftop of Rhuebottom's General Store where three sets of eyes watched in disgust at the spectacle taking place outside the Hazzard Police Station down the road from their vantage point.

"Ya' know, cuz," griped Bo, "Not one of them reporters down yonder bothered t' come up here when that hurricane dang near destroyed everything back in '72."

"They sure are lightin' into Enos, though," answered Luke. "You'd think they _want _him t' be guilty or somethin'. I swear I'll never understand city folks."

"Why heck, th' Atlanta-Journal's done put him away if ya' read what they've been printin' about him. You shake somebody's family tree long enough up here an' a couple moon-shiners and jail-birds are bound t' fall out." He shook his head. "Did ya' see what they said the other day? 'Bout Enos' grandpa dyin' in prison? Made him sound like a regular Jack-th'-Ripper. He only died in prison 'cause he had a heart attack two weeks into a two year sentence for boot-legging."

Daisy heard only half of what her cousins were saying, focused intently as she was on the front steps of the Police Station through her binoculars. Two Fulton County police cruisers had pulled up in front at least five minutes ago, but no one had gotten out. Between the sidewalk and the door to the station was a crowd of vipers, known in polite company as reporters, waiting to catch a glimpse of who the papers had dubbed "_The Mountain Maniac_".

She took down the binoculars and rubbed her strained eyes. From this distance, the crowd seemed alive, like a writhing, pulsing infection. After a moment, she brought the binoculars back up and resumed her watch and waited.

* * *

It was all a bit overwhelming - though Enos supposed any person who'd had as little personal contact as he'd had over the last two months was bound to find it so.

The ride itself had been a host of sensations which he'd spent a lifetime taking for granted: the sun, magnified through the side window of the car, shining warmly over his face; the scent of the vinyl of the car seats; and outside – the trees, grass, sky, and buildings, whizzing past in a blur of colors. His soul drank them in as though they were water to a man dying of thirst. He longed to touch them, to feel the bark of the trees and the smooth wood of the siding on the houses.

He'd never cared to be stuck indoors, and now he stood on the razor's edge between freedom on one side and those walls of stone and iron on the other. If he was condemned to the latter - where he would never again hear the roar of a rushing river or feel the warmth of a campfire in the fall, and where hope was just a bad dream of the past he could never recapture, it would be his undoing. He'd lose his mind.

The cruiser idled in front of the Hazzard Police Station, having pulled up minutes earlier. The officers in the escort vehicle had already exited and were busily trying to back up the crowd who swarmed over the steps between Enos' exit and the door to the station.

The Deputy in the passenger's seat turned around. "Okay, Strate, I'm gonna get you out. We're gonna flank you on all sides, but we need t' go fast. There's been a lot of publicity over your case and none of us really wants t' get caught with some good ol' boy's beer bottle upside our head. That clear?"

Enos nodded in silent acceptance.

* * *

Bo opened another button on his shirt and wiped at the sweat on his brow. "Why's it gotta be so dang hot today?" he complained. "I still don't know why we couldn't watch this from th' church steeple. It'd sure be cooler than this tarred roof."

Though late September, the black tar paper of the roof of the store seemed to soak up every ray the sun sent down, turning their perch into an uncomfortable sauna. The heat rose in waves towards the far side of the building.

"Bo, you know th' Reverend ain't gonna let us up in there. Not after what he caught you an' Mindy Lou doin' when you was nineteen. You're lucky he even lets you in th' door on Sunday mornin'."

Bo chuckled quietly. "That _was _pretty funny," he said. "Say, Daisy, ain't you hot in that get-up?" He smacked her arm in an effort to get her attention, but she continued to watch the station. "I didn't know you even had that many long-sleeved shirts – you've worn one every day since last week. I ain't see that one in ten years."

"They're comfortable," came her indifferent reply.

"You could at least tuck it in. Guys are gonna think you're an' old maid, dressin' like that," he laughed.

She dropped the binoculars and turned towards her cousin, fire in her eyes, and he took a surprised step back. "Well, maybe I'm getting' tired of every guy thinkin' I'm a piece of meat!" she shouted. "You ever thought of that, Bo Duke? Huh?" She pushed him hard enough that he stumbled back into Luke.

"Whoa, Daisy, you know he didn't mean nothin' by it," said Luke.

"Sorry, Daisy, geez I's just joshin' ya'."

"Fine, I'm sorry, too," she said, half-heartedly, and turned her attention back to the Police Station to find the crowd already swarming over the distant figures heading up the steps towards the door.

Before either of the guys could think of anything to say, she was gone, climbing down the railing leading to the street. Bo started after her, but Luke caught his arm and pulled him back.

"Let her go, Bo."

His cousin shook his head and stared after Daisy who was now walking quickly down the sidewalk below them towards the Police Station. "I don't like how personal she's takin' all this. She ain't been sleepin' lately, I know for a fact. An' what's with her dressin' like some school librarian all of a sudden?"

"I don't know. We'll talk to Uncle Jesse when we get home, maybe he'll have some answers."

She walked briskly down the sidewalk – propriety dictating that a woman fleeing down the street towards the Police Station might attract too much of the kind of attention she'd rather not have. After an endless trek of four and a half minutes, she took the stone steps two at a time, weaving through the last of the reporters, and pulled open the door to the lobby -and was immediately grabbed by her arm and pulled to the side.

She spun towards her antagonist as the door swung shut behind her. "Rosco!" she gasped, vainly trying to wrench her arm free of his grasp. "Let me go!"

He shushed at her, and instead of releasing her, pulled her with him to the far side of the room and out the double doors to the left and into the hallway.

"Rosco, you'd better -"

"You can stand there flappin' your gums, or you can listen t' what I've got t' say. Now just...just _hush_!"

Something between an angry snarl and a growl emanated from her throat as she stomped her foot. "_What?_"

His expression softened. "Look here, Daisy, I know ya' wanna see Enos, but I can't let ya' do that right now."

"And just why not? You ain't never had problem when it was Bo or Luke locked up!"

He shook his head. "This ain't a game," he told her bluntly, "an' I can't just let ya' go runnin' off downstairs. You an' them cousins of yours did a real nice job of ruinin' this place's reputation, so the Department of Corrections sent some extra security up from Fulton to make sure Enos stays put and I follow th' rules."

"That's ridiculous, Rosco," she snapped, "Enos wouldn't escape if ya' left all th' doors unlocked, an' you know it. Besides, every jail has visitation. They can't do anything about it."

"Well...now, see, that'd be true, 'cept Hazzard _does_ have visitation hours - same as all Georgia's county jails; Tuesday and Saturday. I just...well, I ain't never had t' worry about th' State breathin' down my neck before." He regarded her with a troubled, slightly embarrassed expression. "I can't afford t' lose my job, Daisy."

She felt like someone had just punched her in the gut. "But Rosco...it's _Wednesday_...it's..." her voice trailed off, the unfairness of it all too ironic for words. All the fault of some musty sheet of paper, filed away somewhere in the annals of Hazzard's Records Room.

Rosco led her further down the hallway, out of earshot of all but the mice, and stopped outside the door to the impound. "Look, Daisy, it ain't my doin'." He held up his finger to silence her. "Now...I've gotta mind t' let ya' see him, but you gotta be patient. You go stormin' in there right now, I'm libel t' never get rid of them numbskulls."

"You'd really let me see him?" Her opinion of Rosco took a noteworthy bounce towards the positive.

He raised two fingers and did some sort of criss-cross pattern over his heart. "On my momma's grave," he avowed. "I'll have t' give you a call ya' if th' coast is clear though, them lug-nuts might hear it over th' CB."

"The farm's fifteen miles away. I'd never get here in time," she said, doing the math in her head. "You got a pen an' paper?" He felt around on his body, and miraculously produced a crumpled receipt and a nubby pencil. She scribbled down a phone number and handed it back to him. "Call me at this number. Just let it ring three times an' hang up, in case Maybelle's listenin'."

He glanced at it quickly, then did a double take, staring at the numbers as though he expected them to change upon closer supervision. "Uh...Daisy...this-" he lowered his voice to a whisper -"this is _Enos'_ number."

"Yeah, that way I'll be close when you call."

* * *

It was after seven before Rosco finally convinced the Fulton County deputy stationed on the evening shift to go and get himself some supper. The sheriff heaved a sigh of relief as the door shut behind the man and the lobby plunged into reassuring silence. Not that he wouldn't have been grateful for Fulton's assistance under other circumstances – namely if he really _was_ holding a cold blooded murderer in his basement, but as Rosco was sure that was _not_ the case here, he was all too happy to get the city cop out of his hair.

He stood up from the chair behind the desk in the booking department and made his way across the foyer to the back stairs. It wouldn't do to call Daisy if Enos didn't feel like seeing her in the first place, now did it? As he rounded the corner into the basement, he felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the young man laying, eyes closed, on the metal bunk of the second cell. His hands clenched into nervous fists and he cleared his throat, wondering if Enos was asleep.

At the sound, the Deputy raised his head and smiled at him, shifting around to sit up and then shuffled over to the bars. Rosco frowned at the handcuffs and shackles, a requirement the State had stipulated for him being housed in a jail where escapes edged out the number of people the county had ever successfully prosecuted. If he'd known that Boss' penchant for having him toss the Duke boys into the slammer for any given reason (and sometimes none at all) would have cost Enos even that little comfort, perhaps he would have thought twice about it. Past sins were a cruel reminder.

"Hey, Sheriff!" Enos smiled happily, looking for all appearances like the same dip-stick he'd always been, but Rosco thought perhaps the smile was about as close to a lie as he'd ever gotten from the man. His eyes looked tired, grim – like a man who'd seen too much of that other side of the world and now carried a tiny piece of it within him.

The deputy's cuffed hands rested on the horizontal piece of iron which ran through the iron bars in front of him and Rosco's attention was momentarily captured by the gruesome state of the man's fingertips where the nails had been broken off down to the quick. Several looked like they'd bled recently. With some difficulty, he tore his eyes away.

"Uh, hey there, Enos...," he stammered, unnerved. "Look, if it's okay with you, Daisy asked t' see ya'."

Enos looked surprised. "'Course it is, Sheriff. Don't know why you'd think it wouldn't be."

"Well, it's just...," he paused. "T' tell ya' th' truth, Enos, she cares about ya' a lot more than you think she does, ya' numbskull. I think she's about t' run herself ragged worryin' over you, so...you might...tell her it's gonna be alright or somethin'."

Enos ducked his eyes and turned away, leaning back against the bars. "Sure, Sheriff,...I'll tell her."

* * *

Daisy sat cross-legged on the bed in Enos' apartment, thumbing through the photo albums she'd found stashed underneath his bed - memories in black and white of times and lives gone by. She'd never realized how much Enos looked like his dad. He'd only been fifteen when Otis had died, but she still heard the oldtimers tell him occasionally how much he favored him, to which he would smile and tip his hat and thank them kindly. She wondered if he thought of that July night every time someone mentioned him, and if he still dreamt about the house burning around him.

She glanced up at the clock, which had clicked off the hours so slowly that day, and knew that Bo, Luke, and Uncle Jesse would be waiting up for her when she got back home, full of questions about what had taken so long and where she'd been. She counted herself lucky she'd driven Dixie instead of packing into the General with them that morning. It was almost seven and she was beginning to think that maybe Rosco hadn't been able to get rid of the other guard when the phone rang three times and was silent.

* * *

She ran. She couldn't help it, and so she justified herself with the knowledge that the guard or guards might be returning to the station at any minute. That did not, however, explain the sweatiness of her palms nor the way her heart seemed to be racing even faster than her feet as they took her up the steps and crashing through the door of the Sheriff's Station, nearly giving Rosco a heart attack.

"JEET! Woman, I swear, you're th' nuttiest one of them dang Dukes there is!" He motioned for her to follow him towards the back of the station. "You've got five minutes-"

"Five minutes! Rosco that ain't -"

"If that dang knucklehead gets back an' finds you here, you'll have a lot more t' worry about than _that._ Now... you swear t' me you won't do no shuckin' an' jivin', an' I'll give you five minutes."

"But..."

"Swear it!" Rosco shouted.

He meant it, there was no doubting the look on his face, and Daisy knew enough to realize that it was the best she was going to get. She nodded. "I swear it, Rosco," she whispered.

They went quickly down the back staircase and Daisy nearly ran over Rosco as he paused to unlock the gate at the bottom of the steps leading into the room. It seemed an eternity before he turned the key in the lock and let her inside.

She hurried across the room – then stopped halfway, the smile dying on her lips and spun back around to face Rosco who jumped back out of habit. "Why's he still chained up?"

Rosco shook his head. "I ain't in charge of him right now! You gotta problem you take it up with-"

"Daisy, it ain't a big deal."

At the sound of Enos' calm voice she turned back around only to have Rosco brush past her to stand between her and the cell door and Enos on the other side. She was just about to gripe at him that she couldn't very well visit someone with him standing in the way when he held up a key.

She swallowed nervously, wondering what he was up to. _No shuck and jive – he'd made her swear..._

"You're goin' in," he told her, "'cause ain't no way I'm lettin' him out."

Rosco inserted the key into the lock and turned it, sliding the door open a foot, and waited for her to enter. She took a step, but then hesitated. _What if it was a trick? _ What it Boss and Rosco were up to their old tricks, trying to frame her into looking like she was helping him escape? How much time would Boss be able to put her away for if she was caught in there?

"How about _you_, Rosco? Can I trust you t' let me back out?"

His features were tight, but there was understanding in his eyes. "Today you can."

She slipped past him, into the cell and the door shut and locked behind her.

"Five minutes," the Sheriff reminded her. "I'm gonna go keep watch." With that he pocketed the keys and left them alone, returning back up the stairs, presumably to look for the guard.

For a long moment they just stared at each other - no glass, no phone receiver, no bars between them - frozen in the oddity of the moment, and for Enos, in the proximity of another human being.

She didn't want to cry – it wasn't _her_, _it wasn't what she did_, but all the same she felt her armor crashing to the ground around her in silent percussions. She gulped back a sob and he raised his cuffed wrists, slipping his arms over her head and around her shoulders and held her tight as she dissolved in tears in his arms.

He felt her body shake as she cried, as she clung to him with a strength that made him recall the Sheriff's words about her caring more than he thought she did and what exactly he had meant by them. Not what it had _sounded_ like, of that he was sure, but it worried him nonetheless that she was spending so much time and energy on him.

He'd never meant to cause her pain, and he wished now that he'd told her weeks ago not to visit him anymore. He wasn't part of her life, hadn't been for the better part of fifteen years, and he cursed himself for being selfish – for taking advantage of her good heart at the expense of her own well-being.

No...it wouldn't do. No matter how much he cared... O_h hell, who was he kidding? _No matter how much he loved her, seeing her smile at him once a week wasn't worth making her worry like this. He wasn't worth her tears.

Daisy closed her eyes and buried her face against his shoulder and thought about how long it had been since she'd just held someone. Since she'd let _herself_ be held. Years? A decade? She smiled through her tears, remembering a boy of seventeen and how he'd gathered her up and spun around with her when he'd come home from the Academy. Suddenly, after all these many, many years, being in his arms felt once again like coming home.

"It'll be over soon," she whispered, "I know it will." She felt him tense but intercepted him before he could back away, placing her hands on his forearms to keep him from pulling his shackled wrists back over her head. "No, don't...don't go."

Obligingly, he let his arms rest on top of her shoulders, his hands behind her head, though he still took a step back. His face was clouded with worry, as deadly serious as she had ever seen him. "Daisy, if somethin' happens t' me-"

She shook her head. "Don't talk like that."

"Listen t' me!" he demanded, with a force that surprised her. "If I don't get outta this, you promise me you'll take care of yourself, you hear me?" His closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You worry th' Hell outta me sometimes, Daisy."

She said nothing – _could_ say nothing. Never mind the fact that he'd never been so brutality honest with her...he was giving up! Before the trial even started - before anyone had heard his side of the story, he'd given up!

He pulled his arms back from over her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"You can't give up, Enos. It ain't fair for you to when nobody else has."

"Daisy, if it's one thing I've learned th' last eight weeks, it's that life ain't fair." His hands dropped down to rest in front of him, but his eyes, burning with intensity, held her still. "I reckon sometimes we've gotta let go of th' things we care about th' most so that everyone else can get on with living." His gaze shifted past her, to some obscure point over her shoulder. "Maybe it won't come to that," he whispered, and for a moment he seemed to even believe his words, until he focused back on her and she saw the fear in him.

The proper thing to say would have been to reassure him, to reaffirm that nothing bad would befall him, but something in his eyes scared her, as if he already knew what would happen and that there was nothing he could do to stop it, like a man tied to the tracks who hears the whistle of the engine coming down the line.

"It's not gonna come t' that, Sugar. Us Dukes would figure somethin' out. We aren't gonna give up on ya'." She smiled, hoping she looked more encouraging than she felt.

He smiled back, but it didn't change his eyes.

The sound of someone running down the stairs caught their attention and Enos took a step back as Rosco flew around the corner, key in hand and a flustered look on his face.

"That numbskull got his dinner t' go!" He fumbled with the key and dropped it. "Ooo Jeet! Dang blasted..." Rosco scooped it up and gathered his wits enough to unlock the cell door.

"Say, thanks for comin' t' see me, Daisy," said Enos cheerfully, as though they'd been talking about nothing more important than the weather. "I'm sure everything'll be just fine t'morrow. Tell Uncle Jesse I said 'hi'."

She stared at him, struck by the paradoxical tone of his voice, as he suddenly became the shy, bumbling deputy with his overly polite good-humor, instead of the passionate man who had stood before her moments earlier. His eyes caught hers in an unspoken appeal to play along.

"I will," she promised, as Rosco grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the cell. "Bye, Sugar."

Enos watched until they disappeared up the stairs, then rested his head against the bars, wondering – and worrying – about tomorrow.


	21. The Trial (Part 1) - Prosecution

_I kept six honest serving men.  
They taught me all I knew.  
Their names were _**_what _**_and _**_why _**_and __**when**  
and _**_how _**_and _**_where _**_and _**_who_**_.  
-Rudyard Kipling_

* * *

Enos doodled absently on the corner of the paper in front of him, marring its clean white surface with heavy strokes, paying little attention to what he was drawing until he noticed that it looked uncannily like a familiar wildflower. He scribbled it out then dropped the pencil back on the desk. His eyes scanned the courtroom quickly. The judge sat behind the center podium, currently giving instructions to the jury about what their duties were and definitions of things which, if they didn't know by now, Enos doubted very much a five minute lecture was going to change.

Twelve people, some of whom Enos recognized but none who he had ever been especially close to, sat in the jury box stationed along the wall on the far left side of the room from his perspective. He wondered if picking them had been difficult since they were probably the only twelve people in the county with whom he couldn't remember having a conversation. Twelve people who held his life in their hands.

He lowered his eyes, nervous at making eye contact with any of them, and rubbed the back of his neck where the collar of his cheap tweed suit rubbed his skin. At least he wasn't hand-cuffed. It was as close to being a free man as he'd been in two months, though the four detachment guards from the Fulton County Sheriff's Department hovered nearby, presumably to inflict pain and suffering on him if he chose to step out of line. Unlike at his arraignment, he'd already decided it best if he minded his tongue and attitude this time.

The judge, Earnest Lee Bennett, he had never met before and was on loan from the 7th Circuit. Judge Druten had excused himself on the grounds that he'd gone fishing too many times with Enos to count.

"Mr. Blair, is the State ready to proceed?"

Enos' head snapped back up in attention as the Judge addressed the Prosecutor.

"Yes sir," replied the man sitting behind the table on the left side of the room.

Enos studied him, taking in his expensive gray suit, his air of command of the goings-on, and his poorly disguised comb over. He was about as different as night and day to Gary who was searching frantically in his briefcase for something.

"And you, Mr. Hunsaker? Do you need another minute?"

The briefcase slammed shut with a bang that resonated through the small courtroom. "Uh, no, your Honor. I mean, yes...yes, the Defense is ready."

Enos sighed, wishing the day was already over. To Gary's credit, he had fought hard, but ultimately lost, a motion to deny the State to enter the skeletal remains as evidence. The skull been damaged too badly and the lower jaw never found. Without them, he had argued, no one could even be sure of who the victim was since dental records had been inconclusive. The judge had reminded him that it was his job to prove that in his defense and denied the motion to exclude it.

"Does the Prosecution have an opening statement?"

"We do, your Honor."

"Very well, you may proceed, Mr. Blair."

The gray-suited man slipped out from behind the table and approached the jury, taking his time, looking into each of their faces as he walked slowly down the length of the jury box.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we're here today because this defendant -" he turned and pointed to Enos, "wanted something that he could not have. Today, evidence will show you that this envy led him to murder.

"On the night of March 25, 1983, the defendant was patrolling the area of Stillson Canyon when he saw the green Dodge Dart of Darcy Kincaid. Now, Darcy wasn't just an ordinary Hazzard County citizen. No, ladies and gentleman, he was the new boyfriend of the woman who had jilted the defendant only weeks before. Recognizing the car as belonging to the victim, the defendant followed him in his police cruiser out to a remote area of the county before pulling him over in the guise of a traffic stop at Hickory Ridge.

"Today, the State will show you evidence that proves the defendant brutally and savagely beat Darcy Kincaid with his flashlight. Then, while Mr. Kincaid was lying helpless and bleeding on the ground, the defendant drove his car over him multiple times – over and over and over again, crushing the victim's skull until he was not only dead, but unrecognizable. You will see the shattered remains of the victim which show how his broken body was tossed into the woods by the defendant and the Dodge Dart which which was found submerged in the lake at the bottom of Hickory Ridge."

He paused, letting his words sink in to the juror's imaginations before continuing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the defendant decided that Mr. Kincaid needed to die for what he'd done. And what _had_ he done? He had asked the wrong girl on a date. It's that simple. What makes this crime even more detestable is that the defendant was a Police Officer – a man who took an oath to protect and serve his fellow citizens. And yet, you will hear witnesses testify that this is not the first time that he has violently beaten another person.

"The defendant thought he'd gotten away with murder, and to provide himself an alibi, he forged a letter from Darcy to his girlfriend, Daisy Duke, explaining to her that he'd been cheating on her and that he was leaving town and that _this_ was the reason why she would never see him again.

"The defendant will tell you that it's all a huge and horrible misunderstanding – that bad luck is to blame for Darcy Kincaid's death. But the evidence will show that Mr. Kincaid is not dead because of bad luck - _he is dead because the defendant killed him. _After all the evidence is weighed and Judge Bennett has instructed you as to the laws in this case, I will come back before you and ask that you return a verdict of guilty of the charge of capital murder. Thank you."

The Prosecutor turned from the jury and walked back towards his table, flashing a subtle smirk at Gary on his way past.

The judge motioned at Gary. "Mr. Hunsaker, does the defense wish to make an opening statement?"

Gary nodded and stood. "We do, your Honor."

Enos took a deep breath and whispered a prayer as the man exited from behind their table and approached the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, his voice true and compassionate, "what happened to the man found in the woods near Hickory Ridge is despicable. None of us will dispute that. However, the prosecution would have you believe that this is an open and shut case with no room for human error. Friends, I submit to you that he is wrong. He is wrong about Deputy Enos Strate, wrong about the events of the night of March 25, 1983, and ladies and gentlemen – perhaps even wrong about the identity of the victim himself.

"Today you will hear a list of facts and see a multitude of exhibits, all carefully crafted together to tell a story about how an upstanding member of the community suddenly succumbed to a fit of rage. What the evidence will not show is the truth about what happened that night and the truth about Darcy Kincaid.

"Did Enos Strate like Darcy Kincaid? No. He did not, but disliking someone is not a crime. You will hear witnesses testify that Darcy had a reputation for being what some would call a "player". On the night of March 25th, Deputy Strate was patrolling Hickory Ridge, a well known make out spot known to locals. As he pulled into the area, he noticed a Dodge Dart parked at the edge of the ravine. He investigated and found Mr. Kincaid engaged in sexual acts with a prostitute.

"Hoping to salvage his reputation in the small town of Hazzard where everyone knows everybody's business, Mr. Kincaid asked Deputy Strate not to arrest him for solicitation, and that he would instead leave town immediately. Mr. Strate agreed and left Hickory Ridge to continue his patrol. Coming around the edge of Stillson Canyon, Deputy Strate hit a deer with his patrol car, causing extensive damage to the front of the car. He got out to check on the animal and his car, getting blood on his clothing.

"Now, the prosecution would have you believe that not only did Deputy Strate perpetrate this crime, but that he did it in cold murder and then went calmly about his business afterwards. Were there procedural mistakes made by Deputy Strate that night? Yes, and no one will dispute that, but this man-" Gary pointed to Enos, "did not kill _anyone_. Ladies and gentleman, Mr. Blair will not even tell you that the skeletal remains can be identified as Darcy Kincaid, because they can not. For all we know, Mr. Kincaid is still alive and well.

"Your job as a juror is very important. You hold this man's life and future in your hands. The law clearly states that he is innocent unless it can be proven without a shadow of a doubt that he is guilty. If there is any reasonable doubt as to this guilt, you must acquit him or else risk sending an innocent man to prison for the rest of his life. Thank you."

For the first time in many weeks, a vein of hope ran through Enos. Despite the inexperienced outward appearance of the young lawyer, he had done a pretty good job with his opening statement. While he'd been talking, Enos had watched the jurors, watched as doubt crept into their faces. Doubt was good, he told himself. In fact, it might be the best thing he had going for him.

"Mr. Blair, please call your first witness."

"Your Honor, the State calls Robert Wilburn."

The lead detective from the GBI came forward, was sworn in, and sat down behind the witness stand.

"Mr. Wilburn," began Mr. Blair, "please state your name and occupation."

"Robert Wilburn, I'm a Special Agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation in Conyers, Georgia."

Enos listened as the Prosecutor asked the detective to explain the evidence found at Hickory Ridge. There never seemed to be an end to it - this exhibit and that exhibit, one after the other. Most gruesome was the gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of oddly shaped, cream colored fragments which Mr. Blair held up for the jury to see which Agent Wilburn identified as the crushed skull of the victim found at the scene. He moved on then to the car, showing poster-boards onto which had been pasted full-color photographs of the Dodge Dart being hauled out of the lake. Then more photographs of the crime scene itself.

The jurors seemed captivated by the presentation. Enos didn't blame them, if he hadn't been the one on trial, he probably would have been sitting there with his eyes wide and mouth open, too.

At last the prosecution was finished and Gary got up to cross-examine.

"Agent Wilburn, were you the arresting detective on the scene?"

"Yes, sir, I was."

"And what, if you recall, was Deputy Strate's demeanor at the time of his arrest?"

"I would say he was surprised."

"Surprised," Gary repeated. "And did he make any statements as you were transporting him to Fulton County regarding the matter of the arrest?"

"Yes, I believe he asked again why he had been arrested and asked to see a copy of the arrest warrant, which I showed him."

"So, he had no idea what he was being arrested for."

"Objection, Your Honor,"_ s_aid Mr. Blair, "he's not a mind-reader."

"Sustained," answered the judge.

"Agent Wilburn, how many times did you interview Deputy Strate?"

"I believe three times."

"And during those interviews, did he ever change his story?"

"No sir, he did not."

"Thank you sir," Gary turned to Judge Bennett. "That will be all, Your Honor."

"Very well, counselor. Mr. Wilburn, you may step down. Mr. Blair, please proceed with your next witness."

"The State calls Rosco Coltrane to the stand, Your Honor."

Enos turned and looked behind him as the doors opened and Rosco walked in. The Sheriff stared straight ahead of him, his face set in tight, determined lines, and his hands clenched in what most might determine was anger, but that Enos recognized as a bad attack of nerves. He had little doubt that the Sheriff was nearly as scared as he was.

The bailiff swore him in and the Sheriff took a seat, looking pointedly away from the eyes upon him and down at the wooden divider in front of the witness stand.

"Mr. Coltrane, you are the Sheriff of Hazzard County, Georgia, is that correct?"

Rosco looked up at Mr. Blair and nodded curtly. "That's right."

"And Sheriff, on the night of March 25th, 1983, the defendant was assigned to patrol which area?"

"Uh, well, we didn't usually assign areas since there was only one of us out at a time at night," he explained. "We usually did loops around the county and then a couple runs straight through."

"Your Honor, I would like to refer to exhibit P025, the diagram of Hazzard County, for the benefit of the jurors."

"That will be fine, Mr. Blair. I assume you have it ready?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

An easel with a large aerial diagram of Hazzard County was summarily positioned in front of the jury. "Sheriff, if you would, please come and draw in for us the route that is usually taken during night patrols in your county."

Rosco got up from the chair and down to where the Prosecutor stood, taking the wide-tipped red Sharpie he offered.

"Well," he said, scrawling a somewhat less than straight line across the picture, "we'd usually go down Ridge-Runner Road at the north end, then cut down Jimson Lane to Highway 20 on the southern edge and back into town. Once or twice we'd usually drive down Mill Creek Road." He drew a line following the road through the middle of the county.

"Thank you, Sheriff. Now, would you please circle on the map the area known as Hickory Ridge."

Rosco drew a small circle on the northern edge of the black spot that was Stillson Canyon.

"Thank you, Sheriff, you may return to the witness stand."

Rosco looked around, lost for a moment, before walking back to the stand and sitting down again.

Mr. Blair studied the map. "Hickory Ridge is quite a ways from where you usually patrolled, isn't it?"

"Objection, Your Honor," said Gary, "that's _his _opinion."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," said Mr. Blair. "I'll rephrase the question." He turned back to Rosco. "How far is Hickory Ridge from Mill Creek Road?"

"Uh...well, I guess about three or four miles, but that didn't mean Enos didn't have a reason t' be there!"

The Prosecutor grinned slightly. "I'm sure he had a very good reason to be out there that night, Sheriff."

"Objection!" shouted Gary. "Your Honor, come on!"

The judge glared down at the counselor. "Mr. Blair, please keep your comments to yourself. Sustained."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," he said, half-heartedly. "Mr. Coltrane, what time was the defendant due back from patrol?"

"His shift was over at 5:00 am the next morning."

"But you saw him again that night, isn't that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"At what time?"

Rosco shrugged. "It was before I left the station, so before midnight."

"And would you describe his physical appearance for the court?"

"He...uh..." The sheriff rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes darting around as though looking for someone to tell him that it was okay, he didn't have to answer, that he could go home now.

"Sheriff, do you recall the statement you made on July 19th of this year to Agent Wilburn concerning the defendant's appearance?"

"Well, now, you see...I...I'm not sure what I told him."

The Prosecutor stepped over to his table and retrieved a sheet of paper. "Sheriff, I understand that this is an uncomfortable situation for you. Let me show you this document, and tell me if you recognize it."

He handed Rosco the paper who scanned it and frowned. "Yes, sir."

"Please explain for the jury what it is."

"It's th' statement I gave th' detective about Enos."

"On July 19th, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Mr. Coltrane, would you please read for us the high-lighted portion of the statement?"

Rosco seemed to sink down lower in his seat before he sighed and began in a quiet voice. "Deputy Strate came in shortly before midnight to tell me he'd hit a deer out by Stillson Canyon. It must have been a monster buck because the front of his patrol car looked like he'd hit an elephant. Enos had blood on his uniform, so I told him to go shower and change before someone thought he'd killed somebody, and then write up a report for the damaged car." Rosco slammed the paper down in front of him. "That ain't what I meant! I was just..."

"Your Honor, I would like to refer to State's Exhibit P026."

"You may. Please let the transcript reflect the exhibit."

Mr. Blair handed Rosco a 12" long, black, Mag-light flashlight. "Sheriff Coltrane, do you recognize this object."

"It's a flashlight," Rosco told him, bluntly.

"This was the flashlight found at the bottom of the ravine at the crime scene. If you would, please note the initials on the end which read "E. S.". Could you please tell the court who this flashlight belonged to."

"Someone with the initials E S, I reckon."

There was a titter of quiet laughter in the courtroom.

"Sheriff, are you familiar with the term perjury?"

"Objection!"

"Sustained, Mr. Blair you cannot threaten the witness." The judge leaned over towards Rosco. "Sheriff, you need to answer the question."

Rosco turned the flashlight over gently in his hands for a moment. "It belonged to Enos," he answered, softly.

"Thank you, Sheriff. That's all I have for you. Your witness, Mr. Hunsaker."

Gary shot a reassuring look at Enos before getting up.

"Sheriff, please describe for us the blood stains you saw on Deputy Strate's uniform. How large an area did they cover?"

"They weren't big at all. I'd say one was about three inches long, the other about two inches. One was on his shoulder, the other about here-" he gestured just above his waist. "They looked like he'd brushed against something that had blood on it. He told me he'd gotten down under the car after he'd hit the deer to check out the damage, so I assumed he'd gotten it on himself from there."

"Thank you for clearing that up for us, Sheriff. You've worked with Enos Strate quite a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes sir, fourteen years."

"In all that time, have you ever known him to act violently towards another person?'  
"No sir, never."

"Thank you Sheriff. You may step down."

The next two witnesses were the Coroner and Chief Medical Examiner for the District Attorney's office who attempted to piece together the facts about the victim from the remains found. Though they admitted to Gary on cross-examination that they could not be absolutely certain of the identity of the victim – Darcy's wallet; remnants of his clothing; and most damning of all, blood matching his rare Type O negative found inside the barrel of Enos' flashlight, made that singular fact look like a tiny fish in a sea of whales.

By the time lunch rolled around, Enos was exhausted just from listening to everyone. He knew the worst was still ahead though, after Gary informed him that after lunch the State would be focusing on his past and private life. That meant Daisy, and he felt sick just thinking about it.


	22. The Trial (Part 2)- Prosecution

_***Spew Warning**** ~ as requested by DixieDavenport, lol.  
_

* * *

_"Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are."  
~Arthur Golden_

* * *

Daisy watched the reflection in the door to the Hazzard Courthouse as the hallway behind her emptied back into the courtroom. Sighing, she touched her forehead to the cool glass and wished the day could just be over. She had no idea what was happening, no clue as to what anyone was saying about Enos' case. Rosco had come back through the door after giving his testimony, but she hadn't asked him anything. He'd looked like a man on a mission – a mission to get as far away from the courthouse as possible and perhaps get quietly drunk in the privacy of his own house.

To be honest, she wouldn't mind that herself after today, but she'd sworn off of the practice long ago (to a certain dark-haired, hazel eyed, young man who had just graduated from the Academy to be precise), after she'd come back to the farm one night, sloshed out of her mind, when she was eighteen. She had never regained any memories from between the time she left that party until she woke up safe and sound in her own bed, but she had apparently scared him to death. He'd made her swear to him the next morning that she'd never do anything so stupid again. She'd counted herself lucky that Uncle Jesse and the boys had been on an overnight bootlegging run up to Knoxville and had never found out.

Enos had always looked after her. It had been a natural evolution of the two of them growing up so close, and him being two years older. Even after the communication between them had broken down and they'd gone on with their separate lives, he'd never really given up that self-appointed responsibility. He had watched over her from a distance, never interfering. _Circumspectly -_ that would be the word for it.

The hand on her shoulder made her jump.

"Hey, sorry," said Luke, as she turned around. "Thought ya' might care for a cup of coffee."

"Thanks." She smiled and took the styrofoam cup he offered. "That's okay, I was just thinkin' is all." She raised the cup to her mouth, breathing in the scent of slightly burnt coffee before she took a sip, and knew he must have gotten it from the hot plate in the Sheriff's Station.

"Well, stop your thinkin'," he scolded. "Remember what Uncle Jesse told you last night. You're not gonna do anyone any good if you get yourself so run down you get sick."

She nodded, thinking about the night before and how Uncle Jesse, Bo, and Luke had been sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her when she'd come home. It hadn't surprised her, in fact she had been glad to get it over with. Doc Applby had even been by, dropping off a prescription of sleeping pills for her at Uncle Jesse's request.

There had been seven pills in the packet...and there were seven still. How could she sleep when the life of a friend hung in such precarious balance? Dosing herself seemed, well... like _cheating._

She knew they loved her and were worried about how much time she was devoting to Enos' case, but they didn't seem to understand that it wasn't _guilt_ that kept her staring at the dark ceiling of her bedroom into the wee hours of the mornings. It was something more powerful and raw, that tugged at her heart as though an invisible chain bound her peace of mind to his. Nameless and unfathomable, it scared her with it's voracity.

"I'm fine, Luke. I'm just worried. What's been happenin' in there?"

"You know I ain't supposed t' be discussin' it with you before you testify," he reminded her. "Trust me, Daisy, you're lucky you ain't in there anyway."

"That's not gonna make me feel better."

He frowned, realizing that his words made it sound worse than it was. "It's not bad, just a lot of technical stuff. Gary's doin' a pretty good job, though. He really laid into th' Coroner," he said. "Made him admit it might not even be Darcy they found out there."

"_Not Darcy?.!_" The possibility of that hadn't entered her mind. "Well then who th' heck is it?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "Prob'ly Darcy. They found his stuff with the remains, and traces of his blood type inside Enos' flashlight. It's just that th' body was too beat up for dental rec... Dang it, Daisy, I'm sorry." She'd turned noticeably pale at his words and he thought she must be thinking of Darcy and how he had died.

In reality, her mind had spun off in an entirely different direction. What if..._what if someone had deliberately set Enos up_?

All that evidence...the call to the DA's office telling them where to find the body, the prostitute who claimed she'd never been there. According to Enos, she had been the only other witness that night. What if she'd killed Darcy herself, dumped his body, and run his car over the cliff?

The informant had been a woman - Rosco had managed to pry that tidbit of information out of someone at the GBI. What_ then?_ Wait two years and call in a tip, naming Enos as the murderer? Now he faced life in prison or death because of it.

The acidic taste of bile rose in the back of her throat. "Uh... I...I'll be back..." She thrust the cup of coffee into Luke's hands and ran down the hall and into the womens' restroom.

She retched with dry heaves until her body shook, until eventually her stomach calmed down and she leaned up against the stall divider, listening to the rhythmic dripping of the faucet on the other side.

"_Alright, Mr. Blair, if you're ready, you may proceed."_

The words echoed faintly through the small bathroom. Daisy, heart-pounding, held her breath.

"_The State calls Robert Ray Jenkins." _

Her nausea forgotten, Daisy scrambled up to stand on the seat of the toilet, watching the air vent just above her head from where the disembodied voice had come.

There was a soft knock against the bathroom door. "Hey, Daisy," said Luke, "You okay in there?"

"Uh...y...yeah, I'm fine, Luke. It's...cooler in here though, I think I'll stay in here for a minute. Why don't you go on back to the courtroom, I'll wanna hear what happened later."

"Well alright, if you think you're okay."

"I am. Don't worry."

She heard his footsteps in the hall grow softer and finally the heavy wooden door of the courtroom shut behind him.

"_Please state you're name for the court."_

"_Bobby Ray Jenkins."_

* * *

"Your given name is Robert, but you go by Bobby, is that correct?" asked Mr. Blair.

"Yeah, that's right," the man drawled, slowly.

It had been twenty years since Enos had seen the man, but it was a lifetime too soon as far as he was concerned. He didn't know who had filled in the DA about what had happened between himself and Bobby eighteen years ago - for all he knew it had been Bobby himself. Kill two birds with one stone – revenge and a commuted sentence for testifying. Either way, Enos knew he was seeing the last moments of that long buried secret slip away.

Time and prison hadn't been kind to Bobby Ray -he little resembled the cocky, muscular teen with the sandy crew-cut who Enos remembered from their high school days. His cheeks were hollow and sunken, his body sinewy, like one who had spent a good deal of time keeping one step ahead of starvation, and perhaps another in front of the men in white coats. The jet black designs on his arms reminded Enos of the beatings he'd endured at Fulton, and he looked away, his heart beating hard against his ribs as the past flashed before his eyes.

"You went to high school with the defendant, is that correct?" continued Mr. Blair.

"Yeah, but I didn't know him much, 'cept for being th' kid whose dad blew himself up makin' hooch," answered Bobby. "He was a year younger than me."

"And on the 19th of September, 1968, did you have an encounter with the defendant at your house?"

Bobby's face lit up like a Roman candle. "Damn straight! Th' freak tried t' kill me!"

"Before we get to that, let's go back to the events earlier that day. Had you spoken with a girl by the name of Daisy Duke at school?

"Uh..well, not at school. I saw her walkin' off campus an' I asked her if she was skippin'."

"And what was her answer?"

"She told me she was an' asked if I wanted t' come down to th' pond with her."

"And what happened then?"

"I went down there with her, but then she started comin' onto me, ya' know. I told her I ain't lookin' for that, so I left. Next thing I know, that bootlicker's tryin' t' kill me." He jabbed his finger at Enos from across the courtroom.

"So, you believe the defendant attacked you because you talked to Miss Duke that day?"

"Hell yeah! Ever'one in school knew he's crazy about her. Like a stalker or somethin'."

The prosecutor nodded thoughtfully and paused a moment before continuing. "Mr. Jenkins, if you would, please tell us about when the defendant attacked you later than evening."

Enos' rage simmered just below the boiling point as he listened to lie after lie on top of lies that Bobby spewed forth - of how it had been _Daisy_ who had started it all, and how Bobby had been just the innocent guy caught in the middle. His twisted version made Enos out to be some love crazed stalker who had beat the living daylights out of him in a fit of jealous rage over the mere fact that he had dared to talk to Daisy.

Mr. Blair took a staple set of papers from the table. "Your Honor, I would like to submit Exhibit P027 into evidence, the medical report on Mr. Jenkins' taken on September 19, 1968."

"So noted," answered the Judge. "Is this the one from Tri-County Hospital?"

"It is, Your Honor." The Prosecutor turned his attention back to Bobby. "The paper I'm handing to you, does that list the injuries you sustained during the attack?"

Bobby looked blankly at it for a moment, then shook his head and handed it back. "I ain't much for readin'."

"That's fine, Mr. Jenkins. Just tell us what injuries you sustained."

"Uh...You mean what he did t' me?"

Mr. Blair nodded patiently. "Sure, Bobby. How did he hurt you?"

"A couple broken ribs, broken fingers, I's pretty bruised up, too."

"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins." Mr. Blair nodded at the judge. "I have no further questions, Your Honor."

Enos leaned over to Gary, "That's all a lie!" he whispered, fiercely. "That ain't how it happened at all. He tried t-"

The judge interrupted him, asking Gary if he wanted to cross-examine the witness.

"Yes, Your Honor," he answered, before glancing back at Enos. "Don't worry," he murmured, "nobody believes a jailbird." He took an 8"x10" photo out of his briefcase and strolled over towards the witness.

"Bobby, I'd like to show you a picture, labeled D03 for the court. Who is this a picture of, Mr. Jenkins?"

He handed the man the picture which he glanced at quickly. "That's me."

"Huh!" said Gary, surprised. "You look a little different then than you do now. How old were you when this was taken?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know, probably about 17 or 18."

"In fact, I'm gonna let the jury look at the picture real quick, so they can see for themselves."

Gary walked slowly the length of the jury box, holding the picture up. Several of them did a double take, looking from the picture to Bobby and then back again.

"You look like you were pretty strong back then. Did you play football, basketball-"

"I's on th' wrestlin' team."

"I see. Tell me, Mr. Jenkins, how old was Daisy Duke in 1968?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. 'Couple grades below me, I guess."

"In fact, Daisy Duke was was fourteen in 1968. Were you aware of that?"

"Fourteen, fifteen, somethin' like that."

"Fourteen," Gary repeated. "Now, Mr. Jenkins, you've admitted that you followed Daisy Duke down to the pond earlier that day. Isn't it true that you attempted to rape her there, but that she got free and ran back to school?"

"That's a frigging lie!" he shouted. "Maybe that's what she told _him_, but I didn't touch her!"

"So, she told Enos that you had tried to rape her just hours prior to his visit?"

"Objection, Your Honor!" said Mr. Blair, "That calls for speculation."

"Sustained."

Gary nodded. "Mr. Jenkins, I don't believe Mr. Blair asked you for your address before. Where is it that you currently live?"

"Objection! What does it matter where he lives, Your Honor?"

"Over-ruled," answered the judge, "Mr. Hunsaker, please get to the point."

"You're currently an inmate of the Georgia Classification and Diagnostic Prison in Jackson, Georgia, isn't that true?"

Bobby's eyes flashed anxiously over towards Mr. Blair, who was looking down at his notes.

"Mr. Blair doesn't have any answers for you, Mr. Jenkins. Once again, are you an inmate at Jackson Diagnostic Prison?"

"Yeah."

"And what was the crime of which you were convicted?"

Mr. Blair stood up. "Objection, Your Honor! He's not the one on trial here!"

"Your Honor, it has a bearing on my defendant's actions."

"I'll allow it. Sustained."

"Mr. Jenkins, isn't it true that you were convicted of raping a fifteen year old girl in Sweetwater County in 1972, for which you are currently serving a twenty year sentence in Jackson?

Bobby gritted his teeth and stared angrily back at Gary. "Yeah, but she-"

"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. No further questions, Your Honor."

* * *

The next witness was Dewey Hogg, who had just happened to see Enos punch Darcy at the Hazzard County Fair when he was eighteen. There had been, of course, no mention of the_ real _story from Boss' oldest nephew, that Darcy had been assaulting a girl by the name of Amy McCullum at the time, and that Enos had stepped in to protect her.

Gary made quick work of the lesser Hogg, bringing up the fact that he had been arrested for numerous scams and frauds, and though Dewey shot back that he'd never actually been _convicted _of anything, Enos hoped enough damage had been done to discredit his shady testimony.

* * *

"Mr. Blair, do you have any additional witnesses?"

"Yes, Your Honor, the State calls Daisy Duke."

A hush fell over the already quiet room, as though this was the piece de resistance for which everyone had been waiting. Enos himself held his breath as he heard the door opening at the back of the courtroom and her quiet footfalls upon the hardwood floor. He could not force himself to turn around, to see the fear that he knew would be in her eyes.

As she took a seat behind the witness stand, Mr. Blair motioned to the judge. "Your Honor, may I approach the bench?"

"What have you got, counselor?"

"What's goin' on?" Enos whispered to Gary.

His lawyer leaned over, covering the side of his mouth as he spoke. "He's going to ask for permission to treat her as a hostile witness so that he can ask her leading questions. He knows your history," he explained, "He doesn't think she'll offer up anything that would hurt you on her own."

The judge glanced at Daisy, then over at Enos, and nodded at Mr. Blair. "Please proceed, Mr. Blair."

"Thank you, Your Honor." He stepped back from the bench and turned to Daisy. "Good afternoon, Miss Duke," he began. "Would you please state your full name and residence."

She took a deep breath. "Daisy Mae Duke. Do you need my address?"

"For the court record, yes."

"1217 Mill Creek Road, Hazzard, Georgia."

"And how old are you, Miss Duke?"

"I'm thirty-two."

"And you are currently employed at the Boar's Nest as a barmaid, correct?"

"As a waitress."

"My mistake. Miss Duke, you spoke previously with Agent Stewart of the GBI concerning the disappearance of Darcy Kincaid and your relationship with him and with the defendant. Is that correct?"

"Yes sir, he came to my house and asked me some questions."

"And did you tell Agent Stewart that you had been dating Darcy Kincaid at the time of his disappearance?"

"Yes sir, I did. I also told him there was no way Enos would have killed Darcy."

Mr. Blair frowned slightly at her words. "Miss Duke, I'm more worried about the facts right now than personal feelings. Now... you also stated that before you dated Mr. Kincaid, you had dated the defendant, is that true?'

"We went out a couple times, to dinner and movies."

"You also mentioned that you and the defendant had had an argument sometime in May and because of that, you, began dating Mr. Kincaid, is that correct?"

"I don't remember when it was. An' it wasn't really an argument, just..."

"But, you did begin dating Mr. Kincaid shortly after that happened."

"Pretty soon after that, yes sir."

"You also stated that you believed that Mr. Strate was upset that you were dating Mr. Kincaid. What, to the best of your knowledge, were Mr. Strate's feelings towards Mr. Kincaid?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. I'm not Enos."

"And yet, you told Agent Stewart that the defendant didn't like Mr. Kincaid at all. Do you remember telling him that?"

She looked down. "I might have said something like that."

"Did you ever see the defendant strike Mr. Kincaid at any time?"

"No! Never."

"Did you ever_ hear_ of him striking the vict-"

"Objection," said Gary, "Your Honor, by his own words he's calling this hear-say."

"Sustained."

"Miss Duke, about how long had you and Mr. Kincaid been dating before his disappearance?"

"You know...it really...I wouldn't call it_ dating_, sir. We just went out a couple of times, off and on."

"So, you wouldn't have considered him your boyfriend?" asked Mr. Blair. "I just want to make sure I'm understanding the relationship that you had with Mr. Kincaid."

"No, I wouldn't have said he was my..._boyfriend_. Not in the way you usually would think of one."

"I see. And who _would_ you consider the last boyfriend that you've had?"

Enos waited for her response with apprehension. To his knowledge, Daisy had never dated anyone except himself and Darcy more than once, and he'd certainly never considered her his _girlfriend_, no matter how many times she'd gone out to dinner with him. It was hard to be emotionally close to someone with a brick wall around themselves.

"I...I don't know," she said, softly.

Mr. Blair turned from her slightly and looked towards the jury. "Would it be fair then to say that you've _never_ been in a lengthy, stable relationship with a man?"

She rubbed the palms of her hands nervously against her jeans. "Not really..."

He turned back towards Daisy, his ice water blue eyes riveted on her, and Enos knew without a doubt that somehow -_someway_, everything was about to go horribly wrong.

"Miss Duke, how many men have you slept with?"

Gary was on his feet at once, his hand pressing down on Enos' shoulder in a silent warning to stay seated. "Objection, Your Honor! What in the world could this possibly have to do with anything?"

Mr. Blair shook his head calmly. "Your Honor, it is very important to establish the exact relationship Miss Duke had with both the victim and the defendant."

The judge looked over at Gary. "Counselor, I'm going to allow it," he said. "If there's anything you need to clear up, you'll have a chance."

Her eyes drifted to Enos, who caught her glance and held it – and for an instant, the world around him seemed to flow in silent, slow motion. She'd run so far and so fast - from what, he'd never quite understood, and now her past lay bare before the eyes of all. The resignation, the pain, the embarrassment in those eyes cut through his heart and into his soul as she struggled to contain her tears, but it was a battle which he could not fight for her.

He thought of Uncle Jesse, of Bo and Luke, sitting behind him in the courtroom, and wished they weren't there. It was enough that she had to say it aloud, quite another to know her family was listening.

Beside him, Gary scrawled a note and underlined it twice, scooting it over for him to read. "STAY CALM AND KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!"

"Do I need to repeat the question, Miss Duke?"

She tore her eyes away from Enos and mumbled something that he couldn't understand.

Mr. Blair took a step closer. "Please speak up."

Ignoring the prosecutor, she turned towards the judge. "Your Honor," she pleaded, "I...I...I don't understand why he's askin' me this!"

"Ma'am," he said, gently, "I realize this is a difficult subject, but you have to answer the question."

She looked down down, away from the faces in the courtroom. "I don't know."

"You can't _remember_ how many men you've slept with?" asked Mr. Blair. "Is it less than ten?" There was a quiet chuckle from somewhere in the room.

"No."

"More than twenty?"

A pause.

"...yes."

"More than _thirty_?"

A sob that she could not hold back escaped her as the tears slipped down her cheeks. "I never said I was proud of what I've done!" she cried. "There's a lotta things I wish I could take back, but I can't! An' I don't understand what this has t' do with _Enos_."

"You may not realize the impact your life has had on the defendant's actions," he said, "but it has. Did you ever sleep with the defendant?"

"_What?"_

"Have you ever had a sexual relationship with the defendant?" he repeated. "It's a yes or no answer, Miss Duke."

"No!"

"Why not?" he asked, "You seem to have slept with everyone else-"

"Objection!"

"Sustained."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," said the Prosecutor, and turned back to Daisy. "So, in the last ten years or so, you've slept with, according to your best guess, over thirty different men, but not -" he pointed at Enos, "-this one. Let me know if I've got that wrong, Miss Duke."

She shook her head, bitter shame etched on her face.

"You made a habit of flirting with the defendant though, didn't you?"

"Sure, I flirted with him, but -"

"And gave him every reason to expect a more intimate relationship with you."

"I don't think Enos saw it that way."

"And then, when you had an argument with the defendant, you ran off and slept with the one man you knew he hated."

"I never slept with Darcy!"

Mr. Blair ignored her. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"I don't know..._Nothing_! I...I just..."

"You wanted to make him jealous, didn't you?"

"Maybe, but I -"

"But you didn't realize at the time that the defendant would become _so_ jealous that he would _kill_ Mr. Kincaid, did you?"

"Objection!"

"Sustained."

Mr. Blair walked away from Daisy. "No further questions, Your Honor."

The Judge looked across the room to Gary. "Mr. Hunsaker, I'm assuming you'd like a chance to cross-examine?"

"Yes, Your Honor, but if I could request a short recess first?"

"You may," replied the Judge. "We'll break for ten minutes everyone."

Instead of getting up, Gary turned to Enos. "Do you trust her?" he asked him, quietly.

Enos shook his head. "I ain't followin' you."

"Do you remember the story you told me a couple weeks ago, about a certain Christmas Eve?"

"You ain't gonna ask her about _that_, are you?"

"What I mean is, do you trust her to stand up for you? Do you trust her_ implicitly_."

_Did_ he trust her? Three or four months ago, if push had come to shove, he wouldn't have been certain. She'd put up a wall around herself, burying herself behind a slew of superficial relationships, and playful flirting that meant nothing to him. It had been half a lifetime since he'd looked into her eyes and seen only _her_ and not a mask.

But now... Something had changed between them in the weeks he'd spent at Fulton. _She_ had changed, subtly to others perhaps, but there had been a time when he had known her better than anyone else.

That wall, that had once been so tall that he could only dream of scaling it, had begun to crumble, falling bit by bit at his feet - dust in the wind. He found himself wondering - as she sat looking so small and fragile and wearing a familiar blue flannel shirt that was too big on her, just how it had happened.

He looked back at Gary. "If I can't trust Daisy, I've got nothin' left t' lose."

The man clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. If I can't make you look good, I'll at least make you look_ innocent_."

Shortly thereafter, the judge returned and court was once again called into session.

Gary walked over to Daisy. "Miss Duke, how long have you known Enos Strate?"

She flashed a relieved smile. "For as long as I can remember," she said. "His dad an' my Uncle Jesse were best friends."

"So, would it be fair to say that you know him well?"

"We...haven't been as close as we were growing up, but he's always been there - for all of us," she added. "I'd like to think I still know him pretty well."

"Tell me about your relationship growing up, before Mr. Strate entered the Police Academy."

Her eyes grew slightly unfocused, as though she was seeing the past come to life before her. "When we were kids, Enos was my best friend. We used t' do everything t'gether. I used t' tell him I wished he was my cousin, too, like Luke an' Bo." She paused for a second and then grinned shyly. "People used t' call us th' terrible twosome, 'cause we were always getting into scrapes together. Nothin' bad - just, you know, silly mischief that kids get into... stuff like that."

"And this close friendship lasted until he entered the Police Academy at sixteen, is that right?"

"Yes sir, but through the first year he was in the Academy, too. He came back to Hazzard whenever he could afford the gas for the drive."

"Could you explain, as best you can, the circumstances that caused your relationship to change?"

Gary looked her in the eye and nodded slightly in encouragement. He'd had a chance a week earlier to talk with her about the possibilities of bringing up the story, and though she hadn't been especially keen on reliving the incident, she'd vowed to do whatever it took to help Enos. It had intrigued him to hear the story from both Mr. Strate and then Miss Duke's points of view. Both accounts matched up perfectly in the physical details, but then veered off on completely opposite courses where reason was concerned.

"It was on Christmas Eve, 19...69." She looked down at her fingers as she spoke, which were restlessly twisting the cuff of one shirt sleeve. "Enos was supposed t' be comin' home from the Academy in Atlanta -"

"By home, you mean where?"

"To the farm. He lived with us at the farm after his mom ran off, so he'd always come an' stay with us over the holidays and summer break."

"I see, please continue."

"I thought Enos was mad at me for what I'd done the last time he'd come home."

"What had you done?"

"I just...I was fifteen an' ...well, he was my best friend, an' I had sort of a crush on him." She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "I told him I wanted t' see what it felt like to kiss a boy, and that if he kissed me, it wouldn't mean anything. He didn't want to, but I talked him into it. It was stupid."

"And you thought that you had upset him?"

"He didn't talk to me for a while, like he was mad at me, and then he left early to go back to school. I asked Darcy Kincaid over for Christmas dinner 'cause I thought maybe if Enos saw me with another guy, he'd forgive me for kissin' him. I thought he'd tease me about Darcy coming over 'cause he knew I didn't like him very much."

"But, he didn't tease you?

"No. Darcy kissed me when he left." Her voice was quiet. "I didn't know Enos was watching. That...wasn't what was supposed to happen."

Enos stared back at her, dumbfounded. He'd always thought she'd asked out Darcy because she'd genuinely liked the guy, and that she hadn't wanted him around anymore. Being wrong would mean...

...It would mean everything that had fallen apart between them had been _his_ fault.

He'd been too stubborn and proud to listen to her when she ran after him that day. Too hurt to care about her side of the story. He didn't want her pity - people feeling sorry for him was the one thing he hated more than anything, and so he'd run away, back up into the hills. Two years passed before he had spoken another _sentence_ to her!

He felt like he might throw up.

Gary waited until she'd taken a couple of breaths before continuing. "So, what did Mr. Strate do? Did he attack Darcy?"

"No, he ran out the door and drove off."

"And, would you say that was typical? Him avoiding conflict?"

"Yes sir. Enos is very good at avoiding conflict."

Enos wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that.


	23. The Trial (Part 3) - Defense

"_Everything that ever will be, always has been,  
and everything that ever has been,  
always will be."_  
-Apollo Sunshine (Breaking Bad Soundtrack)

* * *

Daisy listened to the raindrops as they fell from the eaves outside the window of her darkened room, ticking softly against the gutter. She wished to be one of them – a single drop of rain invisible among the millions, to be swallowed up by the Earth.

She sighed and rolled over, towards the clock glowing a soft green in the full dark of the bedroom. Only 1:30 am.

She had seen longer nights than this lately, without much more than short snatches of fitful sleep – tossing and turning as the blackness faded into the grayness of coming dawn and then into the pink and amber hues of the rising sun, wending it's way through the morning sky. Yesterday, she had debated coming home at all after her testimony in court, wanting to wallow in her pathos alone, but in the end she had given up and slipped into the dark, quiet kitchen well past midnight. There had been no one waiting up to condemn her, she knew Uncle Jesse would have seen to that, but she dreaded more the next day and the thoughts that would lie behind their silence.

Tomorrow, there would be more of the same: sad, sympathetic glances from her family, and the knowing smirks and stares of others. She deserved it, she told herself. Deserved every damn minute of it for the things that she had done.

When Luke had rushed out of the courtroom after her she hadn't stopped, even when she'd heard him calling. She hadn't known what to say to him, and the only thought in her mind had been to escape the cold echoing hallway. But she would have to face them In the morning - to stand before them with all the guilt of countless years wrenched upwards into the light from the darkest, blackest pit of her soul. No advocate, no excuses.

_Alone._

Daisy threw back the covers and pulled her robe around her shoulders before slowly opening her door. The living room was silent save for a soft, muffled snoring emanating from down the hall. She felt her way through the dark kitchen to the front door where she flipped on the porch light.

She opened the door, but stood for a moment inside, looking out through the wire mesh at the night and the rain which she could not see, but which pelted a gentle rhythm down upon the tin roof of the porch. Behind her, the rays of light cast across the table and chairs, glinting dully off the stove on the far side of the room. At last, she pushed open the storm door, catching it to close it softly behind her, and slipped outside.

She sat down on the wide wooden planks of the porch just to the left of the door and leaned back against the house. The air, though still warm, was carried on a brisk wind, and she pulled her knees up to her chest under her robe. A sigh – long and weary, drew forth from her as she watched the lightning play across the horizon. There were so many feelings to sort out; the embarrassment and humiliation were what her mind had focused on first, they were like the clanging of pots and pans or the crashing of cymbals – impossible to ignore, and yet, now that a little time had passed, she could sense others besides them.

_Guilt_ – it had always been her choice and nothing she'd ever done had been forced upon her. _Fear_ – not only of who she truly was, but of the future and what she had irrevocably destroyed. _ Relief_ – to be purged of her deep secrets. And beneath it all, something else – an emotion that shimmered just beyond her reach, like a coin at the bottom of a wishing well. She thought perhaps it was._..longing. _Whether it was a longing for the innocence she'd so shamefully squandered, or for love and understanding, or for everything to be as simple as it once was, or... or for a past discarded and forgotten. Because, when all was said and sifted, _that_ was the loss which had cut the most.

_He was my best friend – we used to do everything together._

Her eyes moved over the floorboards in front of her where the nails had slowly worked their way up out of the wood. She had been eleven or twelve the summer Uncle Jesse had built the porch onto the farmhouse. The corn had been good that year, and he'd spent the extra earnings on enough timber to do the job right. Otis Strate had been helping as well, and truthfully had probably been the brains behind the operation – Otis had never done anything by halves and had always had somewhat of an intuitive reasoning with math and angles and such.

Otis and Enos had come by early that morning and the job had been finished before supper. Afterwards, Otis and Uncle Jesse had sat at the kitchen table, swapping tales of bootlegging up in the Blue Ridge Mountains that both had probably heard a dozen times already. She and Enos had been out on the new porch – she distinctly remembered sitting beside him on the top step, listening as he droned on and on about the car he and his pa' were fixing up for him to race on the Hazzard Dirt Track. He'd been so proud of it, though the Mercury had been little more than a rusty den to squirrels and 'coons when Arthur Sills had loaned it out to him. He'd been chattering happily away, as he had done so often in the years before his father died...talking...and etching his initials into the new support post to the right of the stairs.

She scrambled over and knelt beside it, a mist of cold rain plastering her thin robe to her skin. The post had been white-washed more than once since that day and all visible traces had long since been erased. She ran her fingers slowly down the wood, expecting to find nothing – like her past, just an irretrievable memory, when the tips of her fingers brushed against the angular indentations.

It was still there, after all these years...

_E S_

She leaned forward, her head resting against the post, her tears mixing with the rain, and wished she could just erase the last twenty years, that she could just slip back through time to a time when she was happy and life was simple.

The door opened quietly behind her and she startled and spun around as Uncle Jesse came out and took a seat in the porch swing. She wiped at her cheeks and stood up, moving out of the path of the rain, embarrassed to be found in such an emotional state.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Jesse," she said, softly, "I didn't mean t' wake you up."

"Y' didn't." He nodded his head towards the other side of the porch swing. "Why don't ya' come on up here an' sit for a bit."

It would be impossible to say no, and the thought never crossed her mind as she reluctantly sat down beside her uncle. They sat for several minutes, watching the rain, until she almost forgot that he was there.

"Your Aunt Lavinia used to come out at night an' sit in this swing," he said. His voice was soft, the lowered hushed tones like the rumbling of the far off thunder, just audible over the sounds of the rain. "Used t' come out here an' think when she was feelin' down an' somehow she'd always come back in feelin' better. Don't know that I ever understood what it was, but then...I reckon I was likely too busy t' try."

He paused for a moment, but she said nothing. His thoughts had stirred her memories of the woman, long buried, who had been the only mother she had ever known. She had been eight when her aunt had passed away from a cancer which had rushed like a wildfire through her body in the span of seven short months. They were too poor to mourn for long and routine had taken the place of the emptiness. If Daisy rarely talked about her aunt, Uncle Jesse mentioned her even less.

"She was sittin' there, right where you are now, th' night she told me what that doctor down in Central City had said to her when he'd called that day." He stared straight ahead, into the darkness as he spoke. "Told me not t' worry, that...that I'd be fine...that you kids would be fine..." He cleared his throat. "But, I was scared t' death, Daisy. Scared 'cause I knew she was gonna leave us, an' that no matter what I did, I couldn't change it."

Uncle Jesse turned towards her, and in the harsh glare of the porch light, Daisy could see the streaks of tears on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Daisy, if I wasn't around enough for ya' then. I...I didn't know what t' say to ya'. I was afraid I'd make it worse, but I know how hard it was on ya', hun. Wasn't right for you t' have t' take on so much so young." He clasped her hand in his larger one, his rough and callused fingers warm around her own. "Daisy, no matter what you've done or will ever do, I will always love ya, baby. Nothin's gonna change that, not with me and not with yer cousins either."

Her tears had begun when he'd mentioned her Aunt Lavinia and now coursed freely down her face. "I know you do, Uncle Jesse," she whispered. "I love you, too. I'm just...I'm so sorry. I know what people think about me, an' I don't want them t' think less of you an' th' boys because of it," She swiped her fingers over her cheeks, brushing away warm tears. "I wish I could take it all back, Uncle Jesse," she wept, "I wish I could just start all over again..."

He put his arm around her and she leaned against him, burying her face against his shoulder.

"You've got a lifetime ahead of ya', Daisy, there's still time t' start again."

She shook her head. "I don't know how, Uncle Jesse. Everybody-"

"Everybody'll forget in time, baby, an' if they don't, they ain't worth worryin' about in th' first place." He kissed the top of her head. "Th' good Lord never expected us t' be perfect, Daisy. Everybody's got their own struggles. It's when we give up on ourselves, an' stop tryin' that it's too late for us. Take it from a retired Ridge-runner."

She laughed softly, but her voice was serious, "Uncle Jesse? Do you ever miss runnin' 'shine?"

He smiled sadly. "Sometimes. Ever' time there's a full moon, I still think of those long hauls up t' Tennessee, tryin' t' outrun th' Feds, and I wonder what I'd be doin' if th' boys hadn't gotten caught."

"We'd sure have a lot more in th' bank account."

"Money ain't everything, Daisy," he chided.

"What is?" she asked, suddenly.

He looked at her, studying her face for a moment. "Well now, it depends on th' person, I reckon. Freedom, love, honor, peace of mind. When you find it...you'll know."

* * *

Daisy had been the Prosecution's final witness, and with her testimony, the State had rested. On Friday, Gary began trying to pick up the pieces of what was left of Enos Strate's reputation and paste them back together as best he could. It was a long shot – no matter how well he had been able to pick apart the State's case on cross-examination, the proof of the man's innocence was a different matter.

He hated putting defendants on the stand. Half the time they were idiots (who immediately opened their mouth and confirmed it), or they weren't prepared for the prosecution's questions and ended up blubbering some sort of incriminating nonsense. He didn't believe Enos fit into either of those categories, but it wouldn't've mattered if he had or not...he had been the only one there other than Darcy and some illusive prostitute that fateful night and without his testimony, he might as well plead no contest.

Gary'd had no problems finding character witnesses. Deputy Strate turned out to be quite popular with the locals, and everyone seemed to have some story about the man - from him finding their eyeglasses in their front lawn to getting their cat down out of a tree. Gary had stories of selfless chivalry by the dozen with plenty to spare, but it had taken him until four days before the trial to find just the right story from just the right person...

The chatter settled as the bailiff called the court to order and Judge Bennett looked wearily towards the Defense table.

"Mr. Hunsaker, are you prepared to call your first witness?"

Gary stood. "Yes Your Honor. We call Amy McCullum to the stand."

Eyes turned as a woman entered the courtroom and walked calmly down the center aisle. Her hair was flaxen blond, it's normally unruly curls held in check today with an elastic tie at the back of her neck. Her gait was confident, drawing attention to the pleasant shape and curve of her body - instead of the dress itself which was simple and slightly outdated. Like the clothing of most people who lived in the hills, it had either been hand-made or bought at the Salvation Army down in Central City.

She was, in Hazzard, as much as an anomaly as Enos was himself. She'd been the captain of the cheer-leading squad in their high school days, and the subject of many testosterone inspired dreams by her male classmates – and yet, no one could say for certain if she'd ever dated _anyone_. She'd only had eyes for one boy, even after she'd known it was a hopeless pursuit.

Most people had forgotten her now, she lived closer to Choctaw than Hazzard and rarely stopped in town. Even Enos himself had been guilty of letting her slip his mind for years on end. She had been a true friend once – a designation not held by many in his past - but she was part of that other life, the life of his boyhood, and beyond that...she was a moonshiner.

He watched her, a portrait of grace and poise, as she took a seat behind the witness stand.

"Ma'am, would you please state your full name for the record?"

Her glance brushed Enos', and she smiled a warm, genuine smile. "Amy Lynn McCullum."

"Miss McCullum, how long have you known Enos Strate?"

"Since we were kids. We were in the same class in school and his dad was good friends with my dad so they would visit occasionally."

"And how would you describe your relationship with the defendant?"

She frowned slightly at his question. "When we were in school or...or after?"

"I'm sorry, yes, when you were both in school."

"Well, I guess you might say we were friends, but just 'cause our dads were. Enos didn't want much t' do with me when were were kids," she said, an amused grin playing at her mouth. "I was a little overbearin'."

Enos fought the urge to chuckle. When he was younger, he used to dread going over to the McCullums' house with his father, knowing Amy would drag him around with her the entire time making puppy dog eyes at him or trying to feed him toast and jelly. Not exactly the kind of attention a twelve year old boy appreciated.

"Afterwards, when he was in the Academy, how did your relationship change?"

"Well, at first it didn't, not until after he'd been there a year. I would always write and invite him over for Christmas dinner with my family, but I never really expected him t' show up, ya' know, since he always spent Christmas with th' Dukes. Then one year he did...just outta th' blue."

"Do you know if that was the same Christmas that Daisy Duke invited Darcy Kincaid over?"

"Yes sir, it was."

"And how do you know?"

"Enos was pretty down when he came over, and I'd heard at school that she'd asked him out-"

"You mean Daisy and Darcy?"

"Yes, sorry. So, I'd heard about it at school, and I told him I knew. He didn't want t' talk about it. I think he said something to th' effect that Daisy could date whoever she wanted an' it wasn't any of his business."

"And after that, did the two of you spend more time together?"

"We were pretty close, I guess. I wasn't as close to him as Daisy had been, but...well, he didn't really talk to anyone else, so I think I prob'ly knew him as well as anyone then."

"Miss McCullum, I'm sorry I have to ask, but for the record, were the two of you romantically involved?"

"No." Her voice stayed calm, a faint blush the only thing that betrayed her. "No, never like that. He wasn't around a lot, just for holidays an' such, and maybe a week over the summer, but he always stayed at the Duke farm if he was in town. I just...wanted t' make sure he knew someone was there for him – that someone missed him. We'd just sit and talk...or mostly I'd talk an' he'd listen," she admitted.

"Did he ever talk about Daisy?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Ever' once in a while, but he tried not to. He was trying to forget her."

Her words echoed through the room until they found their mark, and Daisy, sitting solemnly in the back row with her family, shut her eyes against the guilt they dredged up in her.

"Did he ever mention taking revenge on Darcy?"

"No, the only time Enos ever mentioned him was the day Darcy assaulted me – or tried to."

"Tell me about that incident and what happened."

"Enos had come home from the Academy and we'd gone over together to the County Fair, just to waste some time mainly 'cause my mom had a craft booth there. When Enos went to use the bathroom, I told him I'd wait around the other side of the building for him."

"Were you outside or inside at this time?"

"I was outside. The bathrooms were in kind of a little cinder-block building. I was waiting around the far side, away from the food stand. I'm not sure where Darcy came from – I had my eyes closed. The next thing I knew, Darcy was pushing me into the brick wall, trying to put his hands in places they didn't belong."

"Did you call for help?"

"I don't remember if I did or not. I was more angry, trying to fight him off. Enos heard me, I guess, because he pulled Darcy away from me."

"Did Mr. Strate ever seek out Darcy or anyone else of his own volition that you know of, in retribution for something?"

"Not Enos. Never."

"Thank you, Miss McCullum, that will be all."

The Judge looked expectantly at the Prosecutor. "Mr. Blair, would you care to cross-examine the witness?"

"Most definitely, Your Honor," said Mr. Blair, wasting no time and strolling purposefully to where Amy sat.

"Ms. McCullum," he began, "you mentioned that the defendant was depressed after his relationship with Ms. Duke ended -"

"I believe I said he was feeling down, not depressed."

"Would _you_ say that he was depressed?'"

"I'm not a psychologist, Mr. Blair, I don't think I'm qualified t' say that."

"That's right, you're not, are you Ms. McCullum. In fact..." he scanned his notes, "I don't see anything about your work history here."

"I wasn't aware I needed to provide one."

"You work with your father, do you not?" he continued, ignoring her.

"Most children help their parents out from time to time."

"And your father, what does he do for a living?"

"He's self-employed," she replied, casually.

"And by self-employed you mean he makes illegal moonshine, isn't that correct?"

"Objection," complained Gary. "Your Honor, how far from the case are we going to get?"

"Sustained. Mr. Blair, get back to the point."

"Yes, Your Honor. Now, Miss McCullum, you seemed to have glossed over quite a bit of the incident that happened between the victim and the defendant at the Hazzard Fair. I want to go back to that for a minute. Isn't it true that the defendant struck Mr. Kincaid on that occasion?"

Amy regarded him grimly before answering. "Yes, he did."

"And did Darcy Kincaid strike Mr. Strate?"

"...No, he did not."

"Thank you Miss McCullum. No further questions, Your Honor."

The Judge glanced at Gary, "Mr. Hunsaker, do you have another witness to call?"

"Your Honor, I would like an opportunity to redirect with this witness."

The judge nodded. "You may."

Gary walked hastily back across to the witness stand. "Miss McCullum, why did Mr. Strate strike Mr. Kincaid?"

"It was what Darcy said to him."

"Do you recall what it was?"

She nodded slowly, reluctantly, as though she would be happier not to. "He told Enos that he was all through with Daisy and that he could have her back now if he wanted," she said.

"Thank you, Miss McCullum."

* * *

The next witness was a bust, at least in Enos' opinion. Gary had called the owner of the Gold Club to the stand and tried to establish the fact that there had been an "escort" who went by the name of Candy Belle there two years previous. No one used their real names in a place like that, she'd answered, and Candy had moved on years ago, and no, she did not know where the Hell she was now.

After a lunch break during which Enos spent the better part of two hours throwing up into a bucket, court was called back into session and he found himself sitting alone on the witness stand before the eyes of all. He rubbed his sweaty hands against the scratchy tweed of his pants.

A movie he'd seen a couple years back came to mind, the one with Lily Tomlin where she kept shrinking and shrinking. What had happened at the end there? Hadn't she been captured by some government men or something? Had they killed her? No, probably not, he concluded, movies usually had happy endings.

The judge was saying something, but his mind was still on that movie and how much he wished that he himself could suddenly and unaccountably shrink down to the size of a postage stamp and scurry away to hide in the darkest, tiniest recesses of the courthouse. He'd never felt such fear as he felt now. Raw, consuming, blazing fear hummed through his body like an electrical current. He swallowed convulsively, knowing he needed to get a grip on himself, and knowing that he was making himself look guilty, but powerless to stop it.

Across the room, his eyes caught Daisy's. She held their gaze, as she might have once, long ago, as if somehow knowing it was the secret catalyst to his inner strength. She didn't smile at him, as others might have done in a superficial offering of sympathy, nor did her face bear any expression other than a grim determination. Instead, as Gary approached him to begin, she nodded slightly, and in that small gesture he found the courage which had eluded him. And he knew again, after all the years between them, why he loved her.


	24. The Trial (Part 4) - Defense and Closing

_When you invite trouble, it's usually quick to accept._  
_-Anonymous_

* * *

Enos' eyes cut away from Daisy's and back to Gary who was staring at him expectantly, worry etched in the lines of the young lawyer's face. He realized he'd missed the question.

"Uh...I'm sorry, sir, could you repeat th' question?"

"Sure, Mr. Strate," he said, easily. "Why don't you just tell me, in your own words, what happened the night of March 25, 1983."

Enos closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before beginning. Over the next several minutes he told his story, leaving nothing out, interrupted only by Gary occasionally asking him to clarify something. He was honest and brutal at the expense of his own pride, knowing that anything he glossed over or lied about would come back to haunt him in cross-examination. Like a drowning man grasping at passing driftwood, he knew this would be the only chance he would be given.

At times he looked into the eyes of the jurors as he spoke, his voice taking on a note of urgency as though he sensed subconsciously that they did not believe him and that he must plead with them to understand. By the end, he was exhausted- mentally, spiritually, and even physically, though he had done nothing more strenuous than sit and talk and remember. Then Gary gave him an encouraging smile and nod and gave him up to Mr. Blair's cross-examination.

Norman Blair walked slowly towards him, and Enos noticed that his eyes were not blue as he had originally thought from across the room, but gray like cold steel, the same color as his finely tailored suit.

"Mr. Strate," he began, "I'm going to be asking you some rather technical questions today. If at any time you don't understand, just let me know and I will be glad to rephrase it for you."

Enos nodded.

"Let's talk about when you were younger. Your father died very violently, isn't that true?"

"...It...it was an explosion, sir."

"And what was he doing at the time of his death?"

"Objection, your Honor," said Gary, "I don't see what bearing his father's death has on this."

"I'm going to allow it, Mr. Hunsaker. Over-ruled."

"Wasn't it true that your father was making moonshine when his still exploded, killing him?" asked Mr. Blair.

"I don't know what he was doin'," said Enos, quietly, "I wasn't there."

"What was it that exploded, do you know _that?_"

"... It was his still, sir.."

"After your father died. your mother left the state, did she not?"

"Yes, sir, she did."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

"I couldn't, sir. I couldn't go off an' leave everything behind I cared for. 'Sides, I was plannin' on goin' to th' Police Academy."

"So, you were all alone at the age of fifteen. How did you manage to pay the mortgage on your mother's home after she left?"

"I raced, sir."

"Raced cars, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir. I raced on th' State Circuit for eight years while I's in th' Academy an' then th' first couple of years after I's a deputy, t' help with th' mortgage an' such.."

"You must have been pretty good to pay your bills with your winnings."

Enos shrugged and looked down at his hands. "I reckon I wasn't the worst."

"As a matter of fact, you won your division in 1970, 1972, and 1973, and won the state title in 1972, isn't that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Would you say that racing is an aggressive sport?"

"Well, I...I reckon it can be."

"So, to be successful, you'd have to be pretty aggressive, isn't that right?"

"Objection, your Honor."

"I'll rephrase the question," said Mr. Blair. "Mr. Strate, in your opinion, would you need to be an aggressive person to do well at racing?"

"Bein' aggressive in a race ain't th' same as being aggressive to other people, Mr. Blair...sir."

"See, now, I guess that's where I find a problem, Mr. Strate. It seems to me that to compare those two forms of aggression, you'd have to be familiar with both of them, wouldn't you agree?"

"I...uh...I don't know that one has much t' do with the other."

"Mr. Strate, what time did your shift begin the night of March 25, 1983? The night you met Darcy out at Hickory Ridge?"

"Well, it would've been about five o'clock, sir, but if we was short handed durin' th' day, I'd work a double shift from eight in th' morning 'till midnight."

"So you regularly work sixteen hour days?"

"Not everyday, but it happens pretty often."

"How many of these double shifts do you work in a typical week?"

"Whenever th' Sheriff needs me to...maybe a couple times a week."

Mr. Blair took a sheet of paper out of the folder he carried. "This is State's exhibit 7. Mr. Strate, is this your time sheet for the week of March 20th through March 26th of 1983?"

Enos took the paper and scanned it. His brain registered the familiar form, Rosco's neat writing, and his name with the hours worked each day crammed into squares too small for the numbers.

"Yes sir, it sure looks like it."

"If you would read the total number of hours worked...in the bottom right-hand corner, please."

He stared at the number before answering. "...Seventy-nine," he said, somewhat incredulous. He never paid much attention to how many hours he worked, though sometimes it did feel like he lived more at the station or in his patrol car than his apartment.

"Seventy-nine hours," repeated Mr. Blair. "Seems like you worked more than a couple days of overtime. How many hours of sleep do you usually get a night?"

"I...I'm not rightly sure. Five or six, I reckon."

"On that Friday night, what time did you pull Darcy Kincaid over at Hickory Ridge?"

"My watch said 11:04 pm when I got outta th' car."

"Do you recall which area you were assigned to previously that day? I believe you would refer to it as a 'speed trap'?"

Enos hesitated. It was a question he had never given thought to and after two years, he had nothing better than a best guess at where he would have been. "No sir, I don't know...it was a long time ago."

"Do you recall what the weather was like that day or if it was cool or warm?"

"No, sir."

"Were you wearing a jacket?"

"No, probably not. It's not usually that cool in March."

"You don't know for certain?"

"No sir, I wouldn't have been wearing a jacket."

"So, you're telling the court that, after nearly eighty hours of work and less than thirty hours of sleep, you were able to memorize every detail of your encounter with Darcy Kincaid, which you so thoroughly laid out for us in your testimony, down to the minute you pulled him over, and yet you cannot remember anything else about the rest of that day?"

Enos frowned, realizing Mr. Blair was suggesting he was either too tired to be sure of anything or that he'd made the whole thing up afterwards. "I 'spose I remember everything about Darcy 'cause it was unusual, th' other things weren't. I reckon if it snowed that day, I would'a remembered it."

"Did Darcy Kincaid ever cause you to lose your temper?"

"No sir, not really. I mean...I didn't care much for him, but I wouldn't say I'd lost my temper 'cause of him."

"Did you ever strike Mr. Kincaid?"

"Yes sir, but...he-"

"So, you struck the victim, but you hadn't lost your temper?"

"He was tryin' t' rough up a friend a' mine. I was protectin' her."

"You're referring to Amy McCullum? Did you _see_ Mr. Kincaid physically assault her?"

"He was pinnin' her against th' wall, an' she was hollerin' at him t' stop. I'd call that assault, yes sir."

"But isn't it true, Deputy, that you didn't strike him in the act of stopping the assault, but afterwards because of something he said?

"... I suppose it might've looked that way."

"Now, on the night he was murdered, you claim that Darcy was engaged in sexual intercourse with a woman in his car on Hickory Ridge, is that correct?"

"I didn't see what they were engaged in."

"So, they could have been just talking."

"No sir, she wasn't fully clothed."

"So, in your opinion, it's impossible to talk to someone while partially unclothed?"

"Talkin' was low on Darcy's list of things he liked t' do with women."

Titters of quiet laugher echoed through the courtroom and died promptly when the Judge banged his gavel.

Mr. Blair paced in front of Enos for a moment, waiting until he had the jury's full attention once more. "Mr. Strate, are you a virgin?"

Enos' face flushed a bright crimson, and Gary shot up out of his seat. "You can't be serious! Objection, your Honor!"

"Your Honor, there is a point to this," assured Mr. Blair.

"Get to it then, counselor. Over-ruled."

"Do I need to repeat the question, Mr. Strate?"

Enos glared back at him. "I don't know what that's got t' do with anything."

"Just answer the question."

"Yes, I am." His voice held both embarrassment and a touch of pride.

"Isn't it true, as we heard Dewey Hogg testify to previously, that you told people you were saving your virginity for Miss Duke?"

His hands clenched in fists of anger at his sides, though it went unnoticed to everyone except Mr. Blair. "I've never seen fit to discuss th' subject with anyone, so no sir, I _didn't_ say that."

"But, you would agree that you hold deep feelings for her, is that so?"

"Yes...I do."

"Sheriff Coltrane testified that you came back to the station before your shift was over that night. Why was that?"

"Because I'd hit a deer an' needed to report it."

"So, you just happened to have hit a deer moments after leaving Hickory Ridge?"

"Yes sir."

"And did you have any stains on your uniform when you spoke with the Sheriff that night?"

"Yes sir, I'd gotten blood from th' deer on my shirt when I'd checked under th' car."

Mr. Blair handed Enos another sheet of paper from his folder. "Mr. Strate, this is the statement given by Sheriff Coltrane concerning that night. Would you please read the highlighted portion for the jury?"

Enos took it from him, already knowing what it said from Rosco's earlier testimony. The paper shook in his hand as he began to read. "_Deputy Strate came in shortly before midnight to tell me he'd hit a deer out by Stillson Canyon. It must have been a monster buck because the front of his patrol car looked like he'd hit an elephant. Enos had blood on his uniform, so I told him to go shower and change before someone thought he'd killed somebody, and then write up a report for the damaged car._" Enos looked back up. "It was just a joke!"

"Looks like the joke was on Darcy Kincaid, wasn't it Mr. Strate?" Mr. Blair took back the paper, then turned and retrieved an item from the table behind him. He walked back to Enos and held out the object to him. "Mr. Strate, can you tell me whose flashlight this is?"

Enos took it, the black metal cold and unyielding in his hands. He felt the weight of it – a weight that he remembered had once felt comforting which now seemed to betray him with its mute solidity. "It's mine. I left it on th' trunk of Darcy's car when I left Hick'ry Ridge."

"How did it come to have the victim's blood inside of it?"

"I honestly don't know that, sir, but it wasn't 'cause of anything I did."

"It's a mighty big coincidence, don't you think?"

"It's th' truth, sir, no matter how it seems. I ain't lyin' about it!" He thought he saw Gary wince in the background.

"Let's talk about the letter that Ms. Duke received on the 10th of April, 1983. Your Honor, I would like to refer to people's exhibit nine."

"So noted, counsel."

Mr. Blair held up the letter, encased in a clear plastic sleeve. "Mr. Strate, do you recognize this letter?"

"...Yes."

"Who wrote it?" He waited for Enos who only stared, transfixed, at the object. "Mr. Strate, answer the question."

"I wrote it," he said, softly.

"So, after you murdered Mr. Kincaid and disposed of his body, you wrote a letter to his girlfriend explaining why she wouldn't be seeing him again?

"Objection!"

"Sustained."

"After your encounter with Mr. Kincaid at Hickory Ridge, you wrote this letter to Daisy Duke explaining why Darcy wouldn't be around anymore?"

"Yes."

"And in this letter, you attempted to forge his handwriting and signature?"

"Yes."

"How did you feel about Darcy, someone who you've admitted you didn't like or approve of, dating Daisy?"

"I wasn't crazy about it."

"Enough to lure him up to Hickory Ridge, bludgeon him with your flashlight, and run him over with your car?"

"_NO_!" he shouted.

"OBJECTION!"

"Sustained," the Judge barked, angrily. "Don't pull a stunt like that again, counselor. Strike that from the record."

"I apologize, your Honor. I have no further questions."

The Judge looked over at Gary. "Counselor, does the defense have any further witnesses?"

"No, your Honor. The defense would like to rest at this time."

"Very well, we'll take a half-hour break and then begin closing arguments. Do either of you have any objections?"

Both Gary and Mr. Blair indicated that they did not.

"Good," he answered, with a sigh of relief. "I don't know what you people put in th' coffee, but I've gotta piss like a race horse." He banged his gavel. "Court dismissed."

* * *

"You may begin your argument at will, Mr. Hunsaker."

"Thank you, your Honor." Gary stood and walked slowly over to the jury box, taking a moment to scan their faces before he began.

"Ladies and Gentlemen...we have all made mistakes. I have, you have, friends of yours that you know have. On the night of March 25, 1983, Deputy Enos Strate made a mistake. It was the mistake of not arresting someone for a crime that they had committed. He found Darcy Kincaid in the act of soliciting prostitution and, instead of dragging him into jail and ruining his reputation, he gave him a chance to leave quietly and avoid prosecution. Was this the right thing to do? No, it was not. Deputy Strate had a responsibility to bring this man to justice for his crime.

"But, Ladies and Gentlemen, the mistake that Deputy Strate made is not what is being argued here today. What is on trial here is whether or not he, beyond a shadow of a doubt, killed Darcy Kincaid.

"What Mr. Blair is hoping that we will forget is the fact that the remains they found on Hickory Ridge cannot even be proven to be those of the victim. The burden is on the State to prove to you beyond any doubt that Darcy Kincaid was murdered by my client, and yet, they cannot even prove to you_ who_ exactly it was that was murdered in the first place. Ask yourself – does that make any sense at all?

"Another question the State has not answered is how they knew that the defendant had been at Hickory Ridge at all that night. The District Attorney's office received an anonymous phone call from a woman claiming to have witnessed this supposed murder take place. If all this was true, wouldn't you have expected to hear testimony from this informant? Just who is this mystery person who knew so much about the crime? Could this have been the real murderer?

"You are not here to solve this mystery. You are here only to determine if the State has shown enough evidence to remove every trace of doubt from your minds that Enos Strate is a murderer. I submit to you today that the State has not done that.

"Now, we've all heard of the term reasonable doubt, but what exactly does that mean? According to the laws of this country, a person cannot be convicted of a crime if _any_ doubt remains as to guilt. That means, ladies and gentlemen, that if there is even one_ tiny shred_ of doubt in your minds that Deputy Strate committed murder, you must find him not-guilty."

As Gary sat down, Mr. Blair got up, passing him silently as he made his way over to the jury to deliver the State's closing argument.

"Mr. Hunsaker would have you believe that all of the evidence against Mr. Strate is just a bizarre coincidence," he began, " – but Ladies and Gentlemen, the facts speak for themselves loud and clear. We are counting on your good judgement to examine the facts and exhibits that we have shown you to see the true picture of a man who was driven to murder by jealousy and hatred.

"You have heard witnesses testify to Mr. Strate's violent temper and his obsession with the victim's girlfriend, Daisy Duke. This obsession was the catalyst for the murder of Darcy Kincaid.

"Two years ago, on the night of March 25th, Enos Strate followed Darcy Kincaid's car up to Hickory Ridge where he pulled the victim over. Now, Enos knew Darcy well, after all, Darcy was dating Daisy at this time. Although no one except the defendant and the victim could tell you what words were spoken between the two of them that night, the remains and evidence show us what happened in the end.

"Darcy Kincaid's body was not found in one piece. In fact, his skull was broken into so many fragments that it was shown to you in a zip-lock bag. Evidence of severe blunt force trauma was evident by the remains, and Deputy Strate's flashlight was found at the scene with traces of the victim's blood inside. The Sheriff confirmed that Mr. Strate had blood on his uniform when he came back to the station, and that there was blood on his police cruiser. Both of these facts paint a picture of what happened that night; Enos Strate bludgeoned Darcy Kincaid with his flashlight and then ran over him with his car...he ran over him until the man's body was broken beyond recognition. Afterwards, he pushed Mr. Kincaid's Dodge Dart over the ridge and into the pond at the bottom of the canyon where detectives found it. Later that night, the Sheriff witnessed him at the station wearing blood-soaked clothing.

"If the physical evidence of the crime wasn't convincing enough, let's take a look at what Mr. Strate did afterwards. He wrote a letter to Daisy Duke in Darcy's name, informing her that he would not be coming back. Ladies and Gentlemen, only a guilty man tries to cover up his crime by forgery and mail fraud.

"The law says that he must be held accountable for his actions. Your duty as jurors is to uphold the law and find Enos Strate guilty of the crime which he committed."

* * *

With Mr. Blair's last words, the trial of Benjamin Enos Strate adjourned. The judge delivered his instructions to the jury on the meaning of reasonable doubt and of the charge of murder - the State had dropped the option of voluntary manslaughter.

The Dukes and other townsfolk filtered slowly out of the courtroom, and the officers from Fulton County escorted Enos back through the building to the jail where he would wait for the jury's decision.

Daisy followed behind Bo, Luke, and Uncle Jesse until they reached the outside steps leading down to the street.

"Fellas," she said, snagging the shirtsleeve of Bo to stop him, "I've gotta go talk t' Rosco for a second." They looked at her, their eyes registering concern and hesitation. She continued, "I just want t' ask him about visitation t'morrow. I'll come straight home afterwards, I promise."

"Uh, well, alright baby," said Uncle Jesse, uncertainly, "We'll be waitin' for ya'."

She nodded solemnly and turned, running back up the steps and disappearing into the courthouse, leaving them alone.

Rosco was nowhere in sight. Daisy had seen him slip out after the closing arguments, and had almost followed him. In the end, she'd stayed with her family, but had forgotten that Rosco might have run off on patrol to get away from everyone instead of sticking around. His patrol car still sat in front of the station, though, so she slipped in through the door to that led from the hallway outside the courtroom and into the Sheriff's Office.

Rosco looked up at her from the desk behind the booking table as she entered.

"Huh uh...," he warned her, standing up quickly and coming down to where she stood. "This ain't a free for all, Daisy, an' I don't feel like puttin' up with you Dukes t'day." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I got enough problems with Bluto over there," he said, thumbing towards a Fulton County Deputy who stood at the top of the stairs down to the basement cells. "I'm gonna be doin' their pea-pickin' paperwork 'till th' cows come home."

"I'm not here t' 'cause trouble, Rosco," she said, somewhat indignantly. "I just wanna know what time visitation is t'morrow. You said Saturday, remember?"

"I know what I said," he argued. "It's one t' four."

"What d' you think...about th' trial?"

He looked away from her. "I ain't got time t' think about that stuff. They won't have a verdict 'till after th' weekend anyway."

She nodded, hearing the words for what they were: He didn't want to talk about it. Her eyes traveled back to the stairway, and her thoughts to the man below them. Tomorrow. She would keep thinking the best, if not for herself, then for him. There was nothing left to do.


	25. Interlude

_"He who is not jealous is not in love."  
~_St. Augustine

* * *

Daisy had every intention of being at the jail before the 1:00 scheduled visitation, but as it was she was ten minutes late, thanks to Cletus and his bogus railroad crossing sign beside an old washout at the intersection of Mill Creek and Jimson Lane. She'd been mad enough to spit nails, and Cletus had hemmed, hawed, and apologized in sheepish tones, reminding her that Boss had him on a strict ticket quota.

Her mood hadn't lightened as she approached town, thinking of Enos and wishing it could just all be over. This time next week, she'd told herself, they'd all have a good laugh about everything. At least she hoped so. The jurors looked like reasonable people, and anyway, she hadn't allowed herself to imagine any decision other than not guilty.

No, it wasn't fear of the coming decision that made her hands sweaty as she pulled Dixie over to the curb in front of the station. It wasn't the trial she was thinking of at all - and yet her heart seemed to beat faster with every step she took towards the door. She sighed lustily, annoyed more with herself than anything, as she yanked it open and went inside.

Rosco was on the phone and, seeing no other guards, she made directly for the stairs to the basement. He looked up as she passed by, and she heard him bid someone a flustered good-bye and slam the phone down in its cradle just as her foot hit the third step down.

"Daisy, wait! Y' c'aint go down there, yet."

She didn't turn around. "It's Saturday, Rosco," she called back to him, "you said 1:00, an' it ain't my fault Cletus's out there doin' your dirty work an' pulled me over."

He didn't follow after her as she expected he might, instead he repeated from the top of the stairway, "Y' oughta listen to me an' just wait."

Something in his voice made her stop. "Why Rosco?" she snapped, irritated.

"'Cause you ain't th' first one here t' see him, that's why." She turned then and looked up at him. "She got here five minutes b'fore you did. You didn't expect for me t' tell her "no", didja?"

Daisy's mind went through the short list of women who might come to see him. His mother? Unlikely. Amy? Maybe, in which case it wasn't going to bother him if she was there, too. She shrugged, unconcerned, and started back down the stairs. She rounded the corner and stopped - paralyzed - behind the gate.

A woman with shoulder length brown hair and a pretty, red calico dress stood outside the bars, talking to Enos. As she watched, the woman reached through the bars and placed her hand gently against his cheek.

Daisy backed up two steps, around the corner and out of sight, and stared at the crumbling plaster of the opposite wall while righteous anger welled up inside of her.

_What right_ _did she have to be here?_ If she cared so damn much for Enos, then where had _she_ been the last two months? Where had_ she_ been during the trial? Why did she think, now of all days, that she had some right to be here?

Heels clicked on the concrete floor of the basement, coming closer, and the gate creaked open. The woman almost walked past without noticing her, and then gasped, startled at finding someone in the stairwell.

"Oh my goodness!" Vivian said, with a laugh. "You just about scared me t' death. Sorry!" She smiled shyly at Daisy and continued up the stairs.

Daisy leaned her head back against the wall, debating whether she should even go down or not. She felt like a third wheel -

"Hey Daisy," called Enos, "You gonna stand in th' stairway all day?"

_Busted._

She walked back down to the gate and opened it, noting with a frown the Fulton County deputy standing to the inside of the door. Enos waited in the second cell, leaning casually up against the bars as though he might have been watching a friendly arm wresting match at the Boar's Nest.

"Afternoon, Daisy."

"How'd you know I was there?"

"I didn't, I just figured you was. Th' Sheriff said you'd asked what time you could come by."

"Sorry...I didn't mean t' interrupt anything."

"Huh?... Oh, you mean Vivian?" He laughed – much to Daisy's consternation. "Funny how things work out, ain't it?"

She felt herself blushing and forced herself to say, "She seems like a nice girl, Enos."

"She is," he answered. "She's gettin' married next month."

"But...I thought...Rosco said you'd asked her out," she stammered.

"Reckon I moved too slow." He meant it as a joke, but his words seemed to upset her more and he sighed inwardly, believing she was pitying him again. "It's no big deal, Daisy. I only asked her to a movie, an' we didn't even get t' go."

She didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure why it had seemed such a big deal at first - but even now, knowing the truth, there was still an echo of something deeper that made her uneasy.

"Anyway, I don't wanna talk about Viv." He dropped his eyes from her face, watching as his fingernails scratched absently at a bit of rust on the bar in front of him. "I wanted to apologize. I'm right sorry 'bout the other day. What you had t' talk about and all."

"You don't have anything' t' be sorry for, Enos. What I've done's nobody's fault but my own."

"Ain't nobody's business but your own," he said, quietly.

She shrugged, trying to hide just how much it _did_ hurt. "It wasn't anything that people didn't know. Now they just have proof what kind of person I am."

"Daisy, don't do that. I'd like t' think I've known you long enough t' know who you really are."

"Not everyone has a long a memory as you do."

"Look, Daisy, this whole mess is my fault on account of if I'd just done my duty in th' first place, none a' this would've happened."

"Stop sellin' yourself out, Enos."

His hands stilled and he looked back up at her. "You too, Daisy."

They stood in silence, neither speaking, not knowing where the conversation went from there.

"I caught a fish," she heard herself say, wondering where the thought had come from.

He stared at her for a moment, a flicker of confusion at the abrupt change of topic before he grinned at her.

"You did not."

It was an argument that slipped past their adult lives and back into their childhoods. As country-bred as she might be, she was no good at fishing. Whether it was technique or lack of patience or both, she'd managed to snag less than a handful in her entire life. It had once been a point of constant teasing between them when they were younger, mostly at her expense.

"I did so," she repeated, defiantly. "In Miller's Pond."

"_Miller's Pond?_" he asked, surprised. Miller's Pond was just up the road from his mother's house. "What in tarnation were ya' doin' up_ there_?'

"I was...," she began, and then realized she'd backed herself into a corner. If she made up a lie he wouldn't call her out on it, but she'd had enough secrets and lies to last her a lifetime. "You used talk about fishin' up there when we were kids, but I'd never been."

He made a non-committal grunt, not seeing the connection between that fact and why she'd actually gone there.

Daisy sighed, she'd stepped into it, she might as well explain. "I was...thinkin' about you," she said, uncomfortably, "thought it might remind me."

As much as he wanted to tell her how much he missed her, too, and how the only thoughts that kept him sane anymore were thoughts of her, he knew he had to play it safe. She probably didn't mean it like it sounded, and he wasn't about to embarrass himself when the only place to run to was the other side of his jail cell.

"Well, ya' did better'n me, then," he said, instead. "I ain't pulled more'n a dozen outta that mudhole th' whole time I's a kid. The only reason I fished it was because it was close to th' house."

She didn't answer, and he could tell by her expression and the distant look in her eyes that she wasn't really listening to him. She was worrying again, and thinking about what neither of them had mentioned yet. "It's gonna be alright, Daisy."

Her gaze focused. "What'd your lawyer say?"

He shook his head. "Whatever happens, it'll be alright. You just remember what I said before...'bout takin' care of yourself."

"Don't talk like that," she said, fiercely. "I wish ya' wouldn't say that."

He frowned. "I'm sorry, Daisy, I don't mean that ya' can't or won't, I just..."

"That's not why I don't wanna hear it. It sounds like you're givin' up." A thought struck her suddenly and she gasped in amazement. "You lied!"

"Huh?"

"In your testimony! You told that stiff from th' State that you've never had me under surveillance when you weren't on duty," she reminded him," but I know for a fact that you park down th' road from th' Boar's Nest every night at closin' time."

"Ya' caught me."

"Why?"

"Whad'ya mean _why_? Ya' spend th' last half hour throwin' out drunk fellas. Why'd ya' _think_ I watch ya'?"

She'd never considered that – she'd thought...well, it didn't matter what she thought.

"If I hadn't thought you'd toss me out, too, I'd of held th' door for ya' instead of parkin' down th' road."

"If you'd a told me what you was doin' there, stead of sneakin' around, I'd of let ya'."

He shrugged. "Warn't my place to," he said. "'Sides, I ain't supposed t' be keepin' people under surveillance when I ain't on duty."

It was what he was _supposed_ to say, and for once she saw it for what it really was...stone-walling. "Enos, you -" She jerked her head towards the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Alright, you Duke," drawled Rosco, as he opened the gate. "Time's up, let's go."

"What're you talkin' about, Rosco? I just got here, an' you said visitation's 'till four!"

"Well now, you've been here twenty-two minutes," he said, glancing at his watch. "That's seven minutes past your fifteen."

"Rosco-"

He frowned and dropped his attitude. "Look, Daisy," he said, "I told you, I ain't th' one in charge here. Numb-nuts up there is keepin' track of everything. I'm sorry."

She shook her head in disgust and turned back to Enos. "You'll see me soon."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"I expect that fish dinner you promised me next week when you get out."

He smiled. "If I ever get outta here, you'll get it."

"You will," she said. "I know you will, an' if _you_ can't believe it, well then...I'll believe it for both of us."

"Oh, good grief!" complained Rosco, "What is this, _Gone With th' Wind_? I ain't got time for this."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Bye, Sugar."

"Bye, Daisy," he said, as she turned to follow the Sheriff. "Daisy -"

She stopped and turned back to him. "Yeah?"

"Whatever you're lookin' for, I hope ya' find it someday."


	26. The Verdict

_"__Now, you're prob'ly way ahead of what's comin' - but just remember, in Hazzard County, when things look simple, they's only just about t' get complicated."_  
-Waylon Jennings, Season 1 - "Repo Men"

* * *

September 30, 1985

* * *

Enos lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling of Hazzard's Police Station. It was Sunday, and the sheriff had left some time ago, figuring that with an armed guard of Fulton County deputies hanging around he might as well be home as at the station. Cletus was on patrol and on call if they needed anything.

Occasionally the lights from a passing vehicle shone through the small, barred window at the top of the outside wall, their reflections moving slowly around the basement like disembodied specters. It reminded him of the night his father had died, when he'd awoken to the lights of Sheriff Butch Harris' police car shining in through his bedroom window.

His father – who'd wanted something better for him than a life of moon-shining and bootlegging, who had been the one to plant the idea of becoming a cop in his mind. It had not been Enos' choice of profession... not at first. Not until Sheriff Harris told him the only way to escape becoming a ward of the Sheridan Orphan's Home was to take his GED and get out of town until he was seventeen.

He'd wanted to be a Ridge-runner, like his father - to have stories of his own to tell of outsmarting the Feds or racing the sun across the sky in a suped-up runner with an engine that growled with unharnessed potential. But of all the things his father had taught him, he had forbid him to learn to make whiskey, and so his fate had been sealed from the beginning. He had watched Bo, Luke, Cooter, and all his other peers grow up to work at their family stills, and he'd burned with jealousy over it...until his father had taught him how to race.

Daisy had been right – he'd been good. Good enough that he'd forgotten about moon-shining or running whiskey. It was a path he might have followed, had circumstances been different, but he'd quit. He'd quit because he'd lost his inspiration.

On that Saturday morning of his first race, when his heart was speeding faster than his car could ever hope to go, and his eyes shown large with teenage pride as he stood beside his car in the pits, his father had drawn him aside.

_"Think of somethin' you care about, son,"_ he'd said,_ "focus on that, an' forget everything else."_

He'd looked up and, whether by Providence or chance, Daisy's eyes had met his from the stands, and she'd grinned and waved at him.

Every race he'd ever run, he'd run for her. As gasoline had been fuel for his car, so she had been _his_ driving force. After he'd graduated from the Academy, time and life had come between them, and she'd no longer come to see him race. He'd quit because racing had become his secret torture - he could think of nothing but her when he drove around the track.

For a moment in the quiet dark of the cell, he gave in to his weakness. Closing his eyes, he imagined her in his arms, her lips on his as they'd been that day they'd almost been married. Even then he'd held back. He couldn't silence that voice inside him that said it was all a ruse. And so it had been. Nothing but her pity once again.

He'd made so many choices – choices that he'd convinced himself had been for noble reasons. Like going to the Police Academy. If he'd never left Hazzard – if he and Daisy had never had that misunderstanding on Christmas Eve so long ago, what would have happened? Would they have married, or would they still have lost their way – with him burying himself in his work and her...well, enough had been said about that already.

And after all the choices he'd made, here he was – behind bars. This was the reason his father had never wanted him to become a Ridge-runner...the Strates were no strangers to prison. His grandpa had died in the Choctaw County Penitentiary, and his father had never been more than one step ahead of the Feds.

Enos' thoughts drifted back to the words his father had told him, the night before he'd died:

_"The boys you oughta be feelin' sorry for are the ones who'll never know anything else," _he'd told him._ "It'd be easy t' teach you what you need t' know to carry on what I've done. That's what happened to my father, an' his father, an' his father before him. No one told me t' go out an' find my own way. No one told me I could do anything I set my mind to. But I'm tellin' you that, Enos, 'cause I'm not gonna trap you into a life where there ain't no way out. You find somethin' t' do that makes you happy - somethin' you can be proud of, 'cause I sure as hell ain't proud t' be a ridge-runner."_

Enos wondered what his pa' would think to see him now.

* * *

The warm weather that they'd enjoyed so late into September broke on Monday morning, and Daisy woke to a bone chilling cold in the air of the room and a thick crust of frost on the window panes. She groaned to get out of the warm bed which it felt like she'd only laid down in a short time earlier. She'd vowed to get some rest and had crawled into bed early the night before, but instead of sleeping she'd laid staring up at the ceiling until the robins began to sing.

She puttered around the kitchen, performing her chores by rote, and serving breakfast to the guys who looked as tired as she felt. No one spoke, they all knew what they were waiting for.

When the phone rang at 7:45 am, Daisy grabbed it from the hook and held it up to her ear with trembling fingers. Her first try at 'hello' came out a voiceless whisper. She took a deep breath and tried again.

"Hello?"

"Daisy?" said Rosco, "Th' jury's reached a verdict. Court starts at 9:00."

Her heart thumped so loudly that she could hear it's echo in her ears. "Thanks, Rosco. We'll be there."

She hung up the phone and turned to the ring of anxious faces looking expectantly at her from the table.

"Jury's back. Court's scheduled for nine."

* * *

There was dead silence in the courtroom when Judge Bennett walked in and sat down, and the only person who did not watch him organize the papers before him was Daisy, whose eyes were on Enos. At last the Judge looked over at the Jury.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, I've been informed that you've arrived at a verdict. Is this true, Mister Foreman?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"Mr. Strate, please rise and face the jury."

Enos stood, but leaned on the table in front of him, leery of the strength in his legs which felt like Jello.

"In the case of the State of Georgia versus Benjamin Enos Strate, charging the defendant with felonious murder in the willful death of Darcy Kincaid, how say you Mister Foreman?"

"We the jury find the defendant guilty, Your Honor."

Enos bowed his head as the room seemed to make a collective gasp. An anguished cry arose from the back of the room, cutting his heart because he knew without seeing that it was Daisy.

"So say you all, Ladies and Gentlemen?" asked the Judge.

"Yes." chorused the twelve jurors.

"Very well, Mr. Hunsaker, would you like to have the jury polled?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Because this case carries a possible Death Penalty sentence, the trial for sentencing will be set thirty days from today. Let's make it October 30. Will that be long enough, Mr. Blair?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"If there's nothing further..."

The crying had not stopped behind them and in fact, it had gotten louder and closer. Enos dared a look behind him and saw a group of several townsfolk, including Bo, Luke, and Uncle Jesse, trying to hold Daisy back from the front of the courtroom as she struggled against them. Enos leaned over and whispered to Gary.

"Uh, Your Honor," said Gary, "Mr. Strate asks if it would be possible to say a few words to Miss Duke to help calm her down."

In a larger jurisdiction, the answer would have immediately been no, but being from a small rural town himself, Judge Bennett decided to make an exception.

"I'll allow it. Let her through. You have one minute, Mr. Strate."

"Let me go!" shouted Daisy, shoving at the bodies between Enos and herself. The path before her parted, and she she launched herself forwards at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I won't give up, I swear it, Enos!" she whispered fiercely in his ear. "I promise I'll find a way to get you out..."

Without thinking, he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

Shouts erupted around them and the Judge's gavel echoed as it came down upon the wooden podium. Arms grabbed him, pulling him back from her, and he knew that he had only seconds to memorize the feeling of her mouth against his, of her face in his hands, and the soft brush of her hair where it touched his arm. Her hands clutched at his own, not to push him away, but to keep him there, and he realized in a sudden burst of agony that he'd misread her all along.

Fulton's deputies wrenched him away, parting them at last, as the hand-cuffs clicked in place behind him. The look in her eyes pained him, despair and anger, mixed with resolve, longing, love – things he'd waited so long to see there, and every one of them too late.

They stared at each other in the seconds that seemed to each to stretch to eternity – for the first time in fifteen years with no confusion between them.

There is a moment of revelation in everyone's life, and Daisy read hers clear before her now. Why had it taken so long to see how much he meant to her? She _loved_ him – loved him for everything that he was and for everything that he was not, and looking back, it seemed now that she had always known it. All the years she had run from him - from a love so deep and pure and true that it frightened her, had changed nothing. In the end it was still the two of them, standing against the world.

They jerked him back to make him move, and she turned and ran, weaving through the crowd still mesmerized by the scene which had taken place before them. Enos' last glimpse behind him before they forced him from the courtroom was of Bo, staring at him with such a mix of confusion and surprise that it didn't register until much later that it had been shock on the young man's face.

* * *

Because the verdict had been pronounced before noon, Enos was shuttled directly back to Fulton later that same morning. He felt little emotion about it - a fog seemed to have settled into his mind. He didn't even have the willpower to wonder about it...thinking about anything at all seemed to take an enormous amount of effort. And so he stayed, cocooned under a blanket of murky distraction while the real world showed through only around the edges. Not once in the two hour drive did he glance out the window.

Afterwards, he remembered little between leaving the courtroom that day and waking up back in SEG block at the Fulton County Jail, dressed once again in the scratchy navy blue prison clothes. He dragged himself off his bunk and over to the wash station before going back to the front of his cell and sitting down, his back against the bars.

A deep, rumbling voice drifted in from the cell next to him. He didn't remember the man's first name, Washburn was his last name. "Heard they came down on ya', brother," he said. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Yeah...," murmured Enos, faintly.

"I was pullin' for ya'. Ain't too many guys who'll thank a guard for bringin' 'em grub who'd kill a man."

"Hmph."

"Heard some news 'bout you this mornin'. Heard they was shippin' you out."

Enos turned his head towards the voice. "What?"

"They've been movin' all th' hardcore stuff outta here. Ever' since Jackson opened up."

"Jackson?"

"Georgia Diagnostic and Classification State Prison down in Jackson," he said. "Most just call it Jackson."

Enos didn't care. Iron was iron, stone was stone, and bars were bars. "Can't be any worse'n here."

The man chuckled darkly. "You think Fulton's bad? You're about t' go into th' seventh sanctum of Hell, boy."

* * *

Enos lay on his bed, staring up at the flickering light and thought about the few options he had left to him. He hadn't told Daisy when she'd come to visit him on Saturday what Gary had said. He hadn't wanted her to worry and besides, before the verdict, he'd had a chance.

The young lawyer had told him that unless they found new evidence, he had no hope of winning an appeal for a new trial - he'd file one, Gary assured, but he didn't want him to get his hopes up. There was a new evidence technique, DNA something or other, that some police over in the United Kingdom had been working with that might be able to tell them whose blood was in the flashlight. The technology was still a good ten years away from being practical though, and even then if the blood was Darcy's, it wouldn't help Enos prove his innocence.

So, despite the appearance of a chance, he really had none, and the minimum sentence for his conviction was life in prison. Even if it had only been twenty years, it would still be unfathomable.

His mind had begun contemplating darker solutions - like asking them to put him back in general population. How long would it be before someone put him out of his misery? Probably not long.

As it turned out, he didn't need to bother...


	27. Neither Here, nor There

A/N: GDC = "Georgia Department of Corrections". In Georgia, each inmate is assigned a GDC# that follows them wherever they go.

I have little to no information about the actual daily workings of the prison in 1986, but this was before everything was computerized so we're figuratively back in the "dark ages"._  
_

* * *

PART II

* * *

_"I'll find you somewhere -_  
_I'll keep on trying until my dying day._  
_I just need to know - whatever has happened_,  
_the truth will free my soul..."_  
_-_Within Temptation

* * *

Cooter straightened the brim of his ratty Edelbrock cap nervously, his eyes not quite meeting Luke's who had come by that morning for a new taillight on the General.

"So, how's Daisy doin'?"

Luke grimaced and shook his head. "I dunno, Cooter. She ain't said but a half a dozen words t' any of us since..." he trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

They both knew what he meant. Daisy wasn't the only person Enos' verdict had affected. It was Thursday now, and half the town still seemed to be walking around in a dazed stupor. Cooter glanced out at the road in front of the station as a blue sedan drove slowly past. "I ain't never seen anything so dad-burned awful in all my days," he swore. "What's Enos gonna do?"

"Well, his lawyer's writin' up an appeal, but it don't take a brain surgeon t' tell he wasn't too hopeful about it. Uncle Jesse went down t' Atlanta to visit him th' other day, just t' see what was goin' on. Didn't tell Daisy, though. He thinks she needs some time away from it all, but she's dead set on goin' down t' Fulton on Saturday."

The mechanic sighed and shook his head. "What a time t' remember who y' are."

"Huh?"

"I always wondered what it was that come b'tween them two. Seems pretty silly now, 'course I 'spect it warn't so silly when it happened." He noticed the blank stare on Luke's face. "That deal with that Christmas Eve an' all," he explained. "Hell, I lost forty bucks on account of I'd bet Dobro Doolin they'd get hitched before Enos graduated."

Luke frowned. "That was a long time ago, Cooter," he said. "People change."

* * *

The only sound at the Dukes' supper table was the clink of forks stabbing and shoveling food. It was an uneasy silence, broken only by the dinnerware and the furtive glances cast between the three men. Daisy kept her head down and looked at no one.

"Saw Sallie Mae today," said Luke.

Bo looked up, grateful for his cousin's interruption. "Oh yeah? Say what's she up to these days? I ain't seen her around in a while."

"Took a job down at th' First City Bank down in Alpharetta. Loan officer or somethin'."

Uncle Jesse watched his niece as she moved the food idly around her plate - he hadn't seen her eat more than a couple bites the last three days. She'd become a wraith, doing her chores by rote with silent efficiency while her eyes carried an anguish that made him want to look away in shame, knowing that he had nothing to say that would help her. Somehow, two months of Saturdays had reformed whatever it was that had broken between herself and Enos, and the girl sitting across from him was no longer whole but halved, as though a part of her spirit had gone with him - shackled and bound.

"Mrs. Buxton stopped me today," Jesse said, softly, noting the sudden stiffness in Daisy's posture at his words. "She said she's gonna have t' have Enos' apartment cleaned out."

Daisy's head jerked up, her eyes flashing with anger. "She's kickin' him out? She can't do that, I've...he's paid up t' date on his rent!"

"Baby, it ain't about th' rent," he said, gently. "Her insurance won't cover an abandoned dwellin' 'cause of th' maintenance problems. She didn't like it, either." His eyes caught hers. "She said you had a spare key."

Bo's fork dropped with a dull clang. "Enos gave you his _key_?"

She flushed at what that might have implied with any other man but the deputy. "No, Mrs. Buxton did...t' check on th' stove an' faucets an' turn th' thermostat off."

"Me an' Bo'll take some boxes over there t'morrow," said Luke. "He ain't got much. There oughta be enough room up in th' attic for it all 'cept th' furniture, but most of that'll be fine in th' barn if we put a tarp over it. May have t' give th' mattress away, though. It'll just get eaten by th' mice."

Without a word, Daisy got up, grabbed her coat, and ran out the door. Luke stood to follow her, but Uncle Jesse shook his head and held him back.

"Let her go, Luke. We know where she's goin', an' if it'll help her feel better, then let her do it."

Luke sat back down. "I wish there was somethin' we could do," he said, bitterly. "I feel about as useless as a one legged man at an ass-kickin' contest. She can't live her whole life like this. One a' these days, she's gonna have t' wake up and figure out he's gone, an' there ain't nothin' anyone can do about it." He scooted his chair back from the table and picked up his plate to take to the sink. "We don't even know what really happened b'tween him an' Darcy anyway," he muttered.

Bo stared at Luke, astonished at his cousin's uncharacteristic lack of faith. "You don't actually think he _did_ it, do ya' cuz?"

"I don't know what I think anymore," he snapped, angrily. "All I know is that Enos' little stunt at th' courthouse cost Daisy her piece of mind. He's kept his hormones in check for twenty years, seems like he coulda held out a little longer, if ya' ask me."

* * *

Daisy slid the key into the lock with an easy familiarity and opened the door to the apartment. It shut behind her and she stood in the dark, listening to the sounds of her breathing until the tears welled up in her eyes at the thought that it might be the closest she would ever be to Enos again.

She remembered his hands on her face and his urgent kiss that had come, not from the man who'd worn the badge of Deputy Sheriff, but from the boy who had once shared a piece of her soul. She could feel it now– that missing piece – the same piece of her that had ached for him when his father had died and which she had sought to forget by covering in layer upon layer of meaningless sex and empty relationships. The fact that they belonged to each other was like bedrock, unaffected by the erosion of her own life. She wished she'd seen the truth of it ten years ago.

She flipped on the light and looked around at the quiet room, memorizing it, knowing after tomorrow it would be just another empty space. There were two things she'd come for – things too important for her cousins to trash or to misplace. She knelt by the bed and pulled a box from underneath containing three photo albums and a number of loose pictures. She sat it on the bed and went in search of the second item.

Her hands shook as she opened the top drawer of his dresser. The small white box lay hidden behind a conglomeration of socks and boxers – she'd given up on propriety weeks ago and had blatantly rummaged through his stuff, driven by the need to find some piece of him that still existed in her world.

But the box she'd never opened...never even _touched_ it. Now she snatched it from its hiding place and shoved it into her coat pocket. With a last look around her, she picked up the photo box from the bed and left the apartment.

* * *

Like almost every Saturday for the past two months, Daisy woke early, driven out of bed by the nervous anticipation of knowing that it was a day when she would see Enos. She threw back the covers and dressed warmly, barely noticing the cold of the floorboards.

Today was the life-line she'd clung to since they'd dragged him away from her in the Hazzard courthouse. It was bittersweet, now with the full knowledge of what he meant to her and the realization that his future was no longer in his own hands.

Somehow – _somewhere_- there was an answer. She believed in his innocence with every fiber of her being, and that meant that somehow there had to be a way to prove it.

* * *

As Bo, Luke, and Uncle Jesse boxed up Enos' personal effects and cleared out his apartment back in Hazzard, Daisy pulled up in front of the Fulton County Detention Center. Her boot hells clicked softly on the polished tile of the corridor that led from the main visitor entrance to the waiting area. She filled out the card at the front desk and sat down to wait for her number.

Watching the room idly from behind the pages of a magazine she'd already read twice before on other visits, she played a guessing game with herself over which person would be called next. The other visitors had reached the point of looking familiar to her over the last several weeks, like extended relatives at a reunion to which one was only vaguely related.

It didn't take long to tire of that line of thought, and besides she'd lost track of which number had been called last. She was just about to get up to stretch her legs and get a drink from the water fountain when a guard she recognized from previous visits opened the door leading back to the main entrance and called her name.

She hesitated, unsure of why one of the guards would want to talk to her, but he nodded at her to come with him, so she stood and walked back across the room to where he waited. He led them back down the corridor to the foyer and the registration desk where he picked up a clipboard and gave it cursory glance before looking back up at her.

"You're here for Strate, aren't you?"

She nodded, a sense of impending dread coloring the edges of her mind. "Yes sir. What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Did he just have his trial?"

"Yes, sir. Why?"

"He's not on our role anymore."

"I...I don't understand. What does that mean?"

He sat the clipboard aside. "Let me check on something," he said. "Wait here." With that, he disappeared back through another door behind the desk which read "Authorized Personnel Only".

Daisy waited, her eyes watching the clock on the wall as the minutes clicked by until finally the guard returned, relief on his face.

"Looks like he got transferred," he said. "He's not scheduled to go out 'till Monday, but sometimes they'll take 'em early if we need th' room and there's space in the transport."

Daisy shook her head. "I still don't understand. If he's not here, where _is_ he?"

"Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison in Jackson," he explained. "You'll need his GDC number when you go over there." He tore off a slip of paper and scribbled a lengthy number down on it before handing it to her. "I gotta warn ya' before you go, if he's still in diagnostics, they might not let you see him. Jackson's pretty strict on visitation, an' I'm not sure on th' hours." He drew her a cursory map of how to get to Jackson, Georgia.

She thanked him, but he shook his head. "I wish ya' well, Miss Duke. He was probably th' nicest guy I've ever known, inside or out. Can't see how he did what they said he did, but it ain't my job t' ask."

* * *

If Daisy had thought Fulton was as sterile and cold as a hospital, then Jackson Diagnostic was an operating room of clean, metallic efficiency. From the moment she stepped in, she could feel the difference. Fulton seemed strict compared to Hazzard, but Jackson made Fulton seem like a walk in the park.

She was immediately herded into a line of visitors who waited to enter the main facility through an odd rectangular shaped doorway. By watching the people in the front of the line as they emptied their pockets of change and other items, she deduced that it must be a metal detector. Not wishing to seem out of place, she patterned her actions after the others, dumping her keys and spare change into a white plastic bowl before stepping through the doorway.

After reclaiming her items, she followed the line to a long counter where she filled out the standard visitation card with her information. The line then divided into three shorter lines, two labeled "Diagnostic" and one labeled "UDS/SMU/General". The guard at Fulton had mentioned something about diagnostics, so she chose the shorter of the first two lines and waited her turn, Enos' GDC number tight in her hand.

The woman in front of her finished her check-in, and Daisy stepped up to the counter and lay her visitation card in front of her. The guard picked it up and lay a second form in front of her.

"Fill in your information and the name, date of birth, and GDC number of the inmate you're visiting. Then sign below." She marked the space with a small 'X'.

Daisy filled them in and returned it, waiting while the guard looked through a large ledger of inmates. The guard frowned and glanced back at Daisy's information. "Was he in Diagnostics or is he a permanent?"

"Uh...I'm not sure," she said. "He was just transferred from Fulton County this week. They sent me here."

The woman sighed as though Daisy might have shown up just to throw a wrench into her day. "Hold on, let me look in the permanent files." She walked over to where the third line had formed and thumbed through a second ledger. After a moment, she returned and shook her head. "There's no one with that number here."

"But they told me he was here!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, impassively. "That's all I can tell you."

"But - "

"I'm gonna have to ask you step out of line, please."

Daisy stepped back and the waiting visitors behind her surged forward, edging her further out of the way. She looked around at the metal chairs and white plaster walls, a stranger in the cold, sterile, impersonal environment, and felt very alone and far away from home. Enos wasn't here... not here, and not at Fulton. It was as if he'd vanished - as if the Earth had suddenly swallowed him up.


	28. The Hands of TIme

_"I'll have a blue Christmas without you  
I'll be so blue just thinking about you  
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree  
Won't be the same, dear, if you're not here with me."  
-Elvis Presley  
_

* * *

October 7 - December 24_  
_

* * *

It was an agonizing wait for the weekend to be over and Monday morning to come. With the first rays of the morning sun, Daisy slipped away in Dixie on her way to visit the only person who might be able to tell her where to find Enos.

The Fulton County Public Defender's Office was located in a megalith of glass, steel, and stone in the heart of downtown Atlanta. She pushed open the glass door to the lobby nervously and found herself in an astonishingly beautiful lobby, fully the size of a basketball court. Filtered light shone in through eight foot tall windows and the floor was laid in exotic tiles, each nearly two feet across of varying shades of earth tones. The chairs, seated to look out the windows, seemed to belong more in a high-class hotel than an office building.

_So this is where our taxes went,_ she thought, grimly.

There were numerous offices in the multi-story building, and she took the elevator to the top floor. It opened to a short, narrow hallway, leading to a glass door which bore the inscription:

**Fulton County Public Defender Office; Vern N. Seed, Director**

She opened the door and was met by a sparse, tiny, and unattractive waiting room and a window in the wall that reminded her of a drive-up fast food joint. A secretary looked up at her from the desk behind the window.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes," said Daisy, "I need to see Gary Hunsaker if he's in, please."

The woman eyed her critically. "Is he representing you?"

"Me? Oh...no, I...I just have a question about a client he represented in court."

"I'm sorry, but we're not allowed to divulge information about clients, ma'am. Perhaps if you contacted the family if you're a friend of the-"

"It's my fiancé," she lied, desperate for a chance to talk to the man. "Please, ma'am, if you could just give Mr. Hunsaker a message. If you could just tell him it's Daisy Duke, an' that it's real important I talk to him, I'd sure appreciate it."

The secretary stared at her for a long second before finally breaking. "I'll give him the message, Miss Duke," she said, kindly, "but things are always busy around here. You may have a long wait until he's able to see you."

"That's okay, I don't mind. Thank you so much."

The woman nodded and disappeared into a hallway behind the reception area.

It was a long wait made worth it only by the faith she had that Gary would be able to tell her where to find Enos. An hour passed. And another. Finally, just as she was beginning to think she'd been forgotten, Gary Hunsaker opened the door.

He looked younger than he had in court, but world weary, with eyes that looked like he had seen more of life than his youth suggested. He smiled apologetically at her.

"I'm real sorry, Miss Duke, if you could see th' stack of stuff on my desk..."

She grinned at him and stood. "That's okay. I'm just glad you agreed t' talk to me."

"It's no problem." He motioned her to through the door he held for her. "Let's go to my office."

Gary's office suggested he was one of the bottom rungs of the totem pole in the Public Defender's Office. It's white unfinished walls and false ceiling gave it a impersonal quality, and he hadn't been kidding about the stacks of papers on his desk. She found herself wondering if he hated his job as he shut the door behind them.

"I figured you might come by," he said, "but I'm afraid I don't have any answers for you, unless you know something I don't know."

"Where is he?"

He threw his hands impotently up in the air. "The hell if I know. Your guess is as good as mine right now."

"What d' you mean, you don't know?" she shouted. "You're his lawyer!"

"And in th' world of the Georgia Department of Justice, that means squat after the trial's over. Look," he sighed, "I'm getting the same run around you are right now, I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can do about it. Sometimes people get lost."

"_Lost_?"

"In the system," he explained. "It's not perfect, especially when people get transferred. If he's okay, he'll pop up."

"What do you mean,_ if_ he's okay?"

He stared silently at her, but she didn't want to read the brutal honesty in his eyes and looked away.

"Things happen, Miss Duke," he said, at last. "It's a hard life inside those bars. Sometimes people don't make it."

"He's not dead," she whispered, feeling the weight of the word on her tongue. "You don't mean _that_."

"He was on the list for Fulton's Medical unit on Tuesday and Wednesday before he disappeared, and Jackson has no records of him ever being processed through. If he's not at Fulton and not at Jackson, he sure as hell ain't sitting out fishin' on Lake Lanier."

She shook her head, not wanting to believe it.

"Look, I'm not saying that's what's happened. Mix-ups happen all th' time. I'm just saying that it's a possibility, that's all, and that you need to prepare for it to be a fact. If I hear anything, I'll let you know. I promise."

"You think he's" -she couldn't bring herself to say the word- "_gone_, don't you."

"I'm not going to lie to you, Miss Duke," he said, wearily. "It wouldn't be the first time I've seen someone disappear and not turn up on the deceased log until they do the audits at the end of the year. I really am sorry. I wish I could give you more hope than that."

She nodded, not daring to say anything lest she loose the tears she felt close at hand. She turned to go, but stopped when he called her name.

"Daisy, for what it's worth, I believed him."

She pulled open the door and walked briskly down the hall, not bothering to wipe the tears that stained her cheeks.

* * *

Time passed, as time has a way of doing. The days turned slowly into weeks, which dragged into months without a word from Enos or any news of his whereabouts. Daisy had visited every prison within a two-hundred mile radius of Atlanta and then some, hoping to stumble across the path that would lead her to him, but she'd had no such luck.

Gary had called only once, not because he had new information, but to let her know that he'd had Enos' sentencing trial postponed just in case he turned up. She'd balked at the date – March 6th, nowhere near the original thirty days the judge had set, but Gary assured her with Georgia's backlog of cases, they were lucky to get anything within the next six months.

November passed, and with it so did the expectations of most people in Hazzard that Enos would turn up alive – her own family included. They'd even had a sort of dedication ceremony at the town square in his memory, arranged by Bo and Luke. Most of the town had turned up, and many had spoken a few words about the best deputy Hazzard County had ever had - even Cletus had said as much. Daisy wouldn't know - she'd refused to go. Only herself and Rosco still held out hope of finding him alive. Him because he was too stubborn to believe Enos was dead, and her because she couldn't bear to think it in the first place.

She'd regained some semblance of normalcy for the sake of Uncle Jesse's peace of mind, though she'd nearly quit the Boar's Nest when Boss had suggested it was time to change out of her mourning clothes and back into her skimpy ensembles. She'd read him the riot, and he'd relented grudgingly, but only because getting rid of her would mean finding someone else who actually knew how to count money.

And now it was Tuesday, December 24th, and for the first time in over twenty years, there were only four presents under the Dukes' Christmas tree. Enos had been a part of their gift exchange since he'd moved in with them that summer at fifteen. Daisy sat on her bed, holding a small slip of paper as she thought about the years gone by. Every Christmas, after the gifts had been unwrapped, they would pass around Uncle Jesse's hat and draw names for the next year. She glanced down at the paper between her fingers.

_Enos_

There would be, of course, nothing for him beneath their tree this year – but only because she hadn't wrapped it and put it there. She'd known from the moment she'd drawn his name what his present would be. She sat the paper aside and took the object from the drawer of her night stand.

The gift itself had been somewhat more personal than she was in the habit of giving, and she'd desperately hoped that she hadn't read him wrong – and that he wouldn't notice that she'd filched the item in question from his desk drawer at the station when he wasn't looking.

She'd come in to the Sheriff's Office one day and caught him unawares, staring at the watch in his hand – it was the only thing Sheriff Harris had been able to salvage from the explosion which had killed his father. She'd seen it only once before, it's front glass starred and milky where it had broken and the hands stopped forever at 1:16 am, an eternal reminder of the moment his father had lost his life.

He'd finally noticed her and looked up - a deep and painful emotion in his eyes that had reminded her of a past she'd tried so desperately to forget.

"I can't get it outta my head that if I could just turn it back one minute..." his voice had cracked on the last syllable, and he'd put it back in his drawer with a sigh. "Someday, I'm gonna get it fixed, just so I can finally forget about it. So time can...so it'll run again."

She looked down at the watch in her hand, it's leather band singed by a fire that still lit Enos' nightmares. It was 6:18 pm.


	29. The Letter

GDCP = Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison (otherwise known as Jackson or Jackson Diagnostic)

DOJ = Department of Justice

* * *

_"There's a note underneath your front door_  
_that I wrote twenty years ago..._

_ There's no reasons, no excuses._  
_ There's no second-hand alibis._  
_ Just some black ink on some blue lines _  
_and a shadow you won't recognize."_  
_-_The Civil Wars

* * *

February 14, 1986

* * *

The days droned slowly on, blending into one another as Christmas passed and then New Years, and with the passing of the old year, the last bright spot of hope in Daisy's heart began to ebb and fade. Perhaps, as most people thought, it was foolish to expect Enos to just suddenly turn up safe and sound after five months of no leads and no clues.

The unknown haunted her – not knowing what had happened to him, nor why. Enos had been in Ad Seg before he'd been taken to the Med unit at Fulton, so he should have been safe. Her mind turned with every conceivable reason that he would suddenly sicken, and beneath it all ran the ugly thought that perhaps he'd killed himself, but it seemed too uncharacteristic.

It was mid-February now, and the last of the winter chill still lingered in the air after a particularly cold January. She'd had the day off, which was odd for a Friday evening, but she suspected the girls who dressed as she once had sold more beer than she did in her flannel shirts and jeans and that that was the reason Boss had cut her hours.

She looked out the kitchen window at the dull, over-cast sky. In all the years she'd lived, and all the hardships she had seen, she had never felt so empty as she did now. She'd been the one who'd looked at the brighter side of things, who had always been able to find the silver lining in the storm clouds. She wondered now if she would ever feel truly happy again.

Ms. Tizdale rode up on her cycle and deposited a handful of mail in the mailbox before moving on, and Daisy sighed, grabbed her coat, and trudged out to the road. She flipped open the door of the mailbox and pulled out its contents, sorting through them as she walked back to the house.

...junk...junk...electric bill...junk...parking ticket...water bill..._letter._

_A letter._

The envelope shook in her hands, and she sat down on the frozen mud and gravel of the driveway as her legs suddenly lost their strength to stand.

She stared at the return address, whispering it to herself, afraid that at any moment she might wake from a dream. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again – but the name was still there.

**Enos Strate  
GDCP  
GDC #9910177412978  
Highway 36 West  
Jackson, GA 30233. **

She wasn't aware of the cold, the wind, or even where she was as she finally tore the end off of the envelope and took out the single sheet of lined notebook paper and unfolded it to reveal a familiar handwriting, etched in pencil.

_February 9th, 1986  
Dear Daisy,_

_I wrote you a letter a couple weeks ago, then I tore it up because it was drivel and if these are my last words to you, I want it to be me you hear and not something that someone else thinks I should say. _

_I close my eyes and pretend we're kids again, and that nothing has ever come between us. __If I could turn back time, I would tell you just how much you meant to me. I always felt like__ I could do anything when you were beside me, like I was more than just the son of a ridge-runner. You used to tell me I was brave, but I never had the courage to tell you that it was __you who made me strong. It was all you, Daisy, and that's the way it's always been. _

_In this concrete room, you are the sun above me, the stars, my moon, my autumn sky. You are the wind I cannot feel, my breath as try to fall asleep. I want you to know how very sorry I am for letting you down and that if I had the power, I would have spared you any pain I've caused you over the last year. I should have made you hate me to keep you away, but you were the only thing that kept me alive. I fought back because I couldn't stand to see the pain in your eyes when I didn't._

_I don't want to live here where men scream out for people who aren't there and beat against the doors until they break their hands. They cut themselves just to see if they are still alive. I'm so scared that I'll lose my mind, and I want to die while I'm still __me__. If the choices I have left are between living the rest of my life in prison or being executed, I hope you will understand why I would rather have them kill me._

_Please don't try to visit me. If you are able to, forget me. Someday you'll find the man who will be able to make you happy, one who loves you for who you are. Don't settle, you're worth so much more than you know. God willing, we'll meet again in Heaven._

_Until then, I am forever yours._

_Enos_

She had no sense of how long she sat and cried, both in relief that he was alive and in anguish that he wished himself dead. Time stretched on under the leaden sky until at last the prickle of fear for hypothermia forced her stiff legs to stand and walk back to the house and up the steps into the warm kitchen. She sat down in a chair at the table and reread his words.

He'd written it on February 9th. She looked over at the calendar, not knowing what the date was, only that it was Friday and saw to her amazement that today was the 14th...Valentine's Day.

The phone rang and, still in a state of shock, she looked stupidly at it through three rings before she snapped out of her daze and ran to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Miss Duke?"

"Yes."

"Daisy...this is Gary...Gary Hunsaker." His voice sounded as shocked and amazed as she felt. "My gosh, Daisy, I've found him..."


	30. How to Save a Life

_The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me._  
-Ayn Rand

* * *

February 14-16, 1986

* * *

..."Actually, Enos found me, I should say," Gary continued. "I got a letter -"

"-me too," Daisy interrupted, "but he didn't say anything except that...well except that he missed me, nothin' about where he's been or what happened to him."

"Not too much in mine either, he just thanked me for all my hard work, but at least he did say where he's been. I guess they moved him to Augusta State Medical Prison from Fulton. It's about 150 miles east of Atlanta, in Grovetown, and security's so tight that it's next to impossible to get any information about inmates there."

"But what happened to him? At Fulton?"

"He didn't say anything about that, but it must have been pretty bad to transfer him out to ASMP instead of keeping him there. Augusta's like the ICU of Georgia's DOJ, but he's at Jackson now." He sounded almost giddy. "I told you if he was okay that he'd turn up."

"You told me you thought he was dead," she reminded him, flatly. "But thanks for calling, Gary. I really do appreciate it."

"No problem, Daisy. You take care of yourself."

"I will. 'Bye."

She hung the receiver up and glanced around at the quiet kitchen. Augusta State...she hadn't even know there was a prison in Grovetown – it hadn't been in the visitor's handbook she'd picked up at Jackson that first day she tried to find him.

She picked the phone back up, dialed the Sheriff's Station, and let Rosco know that Enos was still alive. There was a long pause before he spoke.

"Only a dipstick'd get himself lost for half a year an' then turn up where he was supposed t' be in th' first place," he said, his voice suspiciously thick with emotion. "Good grief."

The phone disconnected with an abrupt click.

When Uncle Jesse and the boys got back from town, she met them at the door, surprising them with a smile on her face – the first they'd seen in quite a while, but when she told them Enos was alive their faces fell, and Daisy realized they were worried she might have just gone crazy. She let them read the letter, hoping to convince them as well.

After passing it around, they stared at each other, their faces painted with the same shock hers had been only a short time before.

"Well, I'll be," muttered Uncle Jesse.

Bo smiled tentatively, unsure if he was supposed to be happy Enos was alive or upset because of the contents of the letter. "I guess...well, I guess that's good news then, right?"

"Of course it is, Bo!" she said. "He's alive, that means there's still hope."

"Hope for _what_, Daisy?" asked Luke, gently. "Gary already told us he expects th' appeal t' be turned down, and he ain't got no other options. He didn't write you a letter tellin' you good-bye for nothin'. Even _he_ knows better."

"We'll prove he didn't do it!" she vowed, with fire in her eyes. "He didn't kill Darcy, but _somebody_ did. We just have t' find out who, and then they'll have to let him out."

Luke shook his head. "That's a mighty fine idea, Daisy, but this ain't Boss, Rosco, an' Hazzard County justice we're talkin' about. This is th' State of Georgia, an' like it or not, unless you have some proof of it, there ain't much we're gonna be able t' do to change their minds."

She snatched the letter back from his hands. "Then I'll find a way," she said, "'cause I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him rot in prison."

* * *

The next day found her once again at Jackson for visitation, but this time she went armed with the knowledge and proof that he was there. She waited impatiently in line as it moved slowly through the metal detector and then stopped for an agonizing wait while an elderly woman searched her pockets for the lost bit of spare change that kept setting off the machine. Finally she made it through, filled out her card, and got in line for check in.

She filled in the form that the guard at the desk handed her, gave it back, and waited while he looked up the number in the ledger. This time it was there. The man wrote some information down and perused her form – then stopped suddenly and looked up at her.

"What's your relationship to Benjamin Strate?"

The choices on the form had been; parent, sibling, spouse, or other. She had checked 'other'. "I'm his fiancée," she said, figuring the guard wouldn't know any different.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Immediate family only."

"_What?_"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry, those are th' rules. Inmates still in diagnostics are limited to immediate family members only."

"Well...how long will he be in diagnostics?"

"When was he sentenced?"

"He hasn't been sentenced, yet. Not until March 6th."

He looked at her sadly and shook his head. "He's just waiting to go into the process then. The diagnostic tests take about two to three months after sentencing before they have their final determination, and then they either go into GDCP as a permanent or they're transferred on to where they'll be serving their sentence. I guess you might think of us as sort of a clearinghouse."

Daisy didn't care what the function of the prison was. "You're telling me I can't visit him until _JUNE_?"

"I'm real sorry, ma'am. Only immediate relations, law enforcement, and counsel are allowed to visit those in diagnostics."

_Law-enforcement_. "So...a police officer would be allowed to visit him?"

He nodded. "That wouldn't be a problem."

"Would that just be on Saturday or is there a special day for them?"

"No, they're free to come any time," he said, giving her a strange look. "Why'd you want t' know?"

"He's got a friend who's a police officer," she explained. "I was just wondering." Behind her, she heard impatient grumbles of those who were getting tired of waiting. "I'd better get out of th' way. Thanks for your help."

"Uh...sure, no problem. Sorry about th' visitation."

She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face, then turned and left the building.

* * *

"What in tarnation are you talkin' about?" griped Rosco. "You ain't makin' a lick of sense...even for a Duke."

"I meant exactly what I said, Rosco," said Daisy. "I want my job back."

"You've gone squirrelly. I ain't got any idea what you're -" he stopped and stared at her, understanding, and a bit of horror, dawning on his face. "Huh uh! No. There ain't no way."

"Rosco,_ please_."

"There ain't no way I'm makin' you a deputy again. That job's been filled."

"By who?"

"By floppy ears, here," he said rubbing Flash's head. "She works for dog biscuits."

"I'll work for free."

His eyes narrowed at her. "What's goin' on with you?"

She looked away from him, but her face was still set with determination. "It's the only way they'll let me visit Enos," she admitted. "They said th' only people who can visit him in Jackson 'till June are his mother and cops."

"This is all about that dipstick?"

"_Enos_," she corrected.

"Dipstick." He sighed. "Listen here, if Boss found out I hired you, he'd drop my salary so low I'd have to panhandle t' buy dental floss."

"It wouldn't come t' that. All I want's my badge back...just t' get me in, I swear. No one would have t' know, not even Uncle Jesse or th' boys."

His eyes flicked back up to hers. "Y' know, if you're just plannin' on visitin' him 'till you find your next law-breaker in tight jeans, you're gonna do him more harm than good. He don't need you breakin' his heart again."

She gritted her teeth and bit back a retort. He was only looking out for Enos in his own way, and it had been her own actions which had destroyed her reputation.

"No one knows what I'm guilty of more than I do," she said, "but I'm tryin' my best t' make it right."

The Sheriff shook his head, in doubt or dismissal, and walked away from her and into his office. She followed him, prepared to beg and plead as much as it took to get him to listen to her. Instead she watched as he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and rummaged around a moment before pulling out an item and slapping it down on the desk in front of her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up the badge.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I ain't doin' this for _you_," came his scathing reply, "I'm doin' it for_ him._" He muttered something under his breath about it being the least he could do for 'that dipstick after what I did to him', and Daisy knew he was thinking of his testimony and blaming himself for Enos' conviction.

"Rosco, it ain't your fault."

He grunted. "Don't run off, yet. They ain't gonna let you in without some paperwork sayin' you didn't just rip that badge off a dead cop." He rifled through a file cabinet and pulled out a short form. "Here, print your name an' all that other stuff on there." She did and then he signed the bottom and embossed it with the county seal. He held it out to her, but didn't let it go when she tried to take it. "I'm holdin' ya' to what you said," he reminded her. "No one knows about this, an' if it gets back t' Boss, I promise you'll see my lights in your rear view mirror everywhere you go 'till I run you outta town or haul you off to jail. Then you an' th' dipstick can be pen-pals."

He gave her the paper and she slipped it and the badge into her pocket. "I understand, Rosco. I owe ya' one."

"I'll remember that," he assured her.

* * *

The guard at Jackson read over the form Rosco had given her with a curious look on his face. "Haven't seen one of these in a while," he said. "How long you worked in-" he looked back at her information, "-Hazzard County?"

"Two days," she replied with a smile. "Is there somethin' wrong?"

"Oh, no," the man assured her, "th' temporary ID just threw me for a second. If you'd like, you can go on in through th' door and wait, ma'am." He pointed at a nondescript steel door off to her left. "Someone'll bring Mr. Strate down in a minute."

She opened the door he'd indicated and stepped into the strangest visitation room she'd ever seen. Unlike Fulton, with it's cubicles and phones, this was nothing more than a long concrete hallway with two wooden benches against the right wall. The bottom half of the left side wall was concrete, and above that a screen of steel mesh separated the visitor's area from an almost identical room on the other side. Both were empty save for her, there being no regular visitation on Mondays.

She ran her fingers along the screen, wondering why had it taken something as physical as bars between them for him to say what needed to be said and, for her, to feel openly what had laid silently beneath the surface. Looking around at the smooth concrete walls, she resigned herself to the fact that she would be here many, many times in the future. Even if Enos eventually won a new trial, it would take time. Gary had talked about DNA, about the test that could tell one person from another, but it was expensive and even if it proved it hadn't been Darcy's body at Hickory Ridge,_ someone_ had died and the State didn't grant new trials easily.

_"We just have t' hope something comes out that we don't know about right now," _Gary had told her._ "That or somebody slips up. People talk, and somebody'll say something. We just have t' hope whoever they tell calls the police or the GBI."_

Even then, it might still be years until an appeal was actually approved and a new trial granted. He'd told her of a few cases that were so egregious in the way the State had handled the case that he'd thought an appeal would have been approved immediately, but the State didn't like to admit when they'd made a mistake - even if it was obvious to everyone concerned.

She was pulled out of her reverie by the sudden flashing of a red light above the door in the adjacent room. Her heart pounded in her chest and she clutched at the screen with sweaty fingers, holding her breath at the buzz and then click of the electric door unlocking.

An inmate in a white jumpsuit and shackles, followed by a guard, shuffled through the door, but he was older and his physique different. She craned her neck to see past the guard, waiting for someone else to come through. It wasn't until the man raised his head and his hazel eyes met hers that she realized it was Enos.

Of all that she had prepared for, she could not have imagined how a man could change so completely in such a short amount of time. She had expected bruises and cuts, like the external scars of the previous beatings he'd taken at Fulton, but this was different. If the wounds inflicted upon a man's soul could be seen through the windows of his eyes, so she saw them now in Enos. He'd lost weight and his complexion was too pale and his hair had been shorn off (as was the policy with inmates at Jackson) – and yet it was not those external changes that frightened her the most – it was the deadness of his eyes.

She could not contain the involuntary cry of despair that escaped her as he closed his eyes and turned his back to her. He murmured something to the guard and it took her only a second to realize that he'd asked the guard to take him back.

"_Enos_!" She screamed through the screen. "Please talk t' me! _Oh God_, _please_...don't go!"

He said nothing, nor did he glance behind him at her as the guard led him back through the steel door. It slammed with the finality of death, and the echoes of it in her mind were the nails of his coffin as she stood weeping alone in the empty room.

_Years_, Gary had said. It might take _years_ before anything new happened with his case. Daisy knew now, as surely as the sun rose above her, that Enos no longer had years to wait.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and wiped her eyes. Generations of Dukes before her had defied the law when it had turned against them, and they'd never left one of their own behind.

"Well... Alright then," she whispered, resolved.

There was a stillness in her, a calmness that she was surprised that she felt, for what she was contemplating would mean giving up everything that she had ever known. All of it...for _him_.

She felt as if all her life had prepared her for this single moment of truth, as though in the depths of her heart she had known that someday it would come.

She had found that which was most important to her - and now she had to save him.


	31. A Simple Plan

_"He is a man buried alive; to be dug out in the slow round of years and in the meantime is dead to everything but torturing anxieties and horrible despair."_  
-Charles Dickens, concerning solitary confinement

* * *

Friday, February 21, 1986

* * *

Daisy sat at the kitchen table and stared out the window, oblivious to her family who had found themselves that morning with burnt toast and nearly raw bacon for breakfast – a casualty of her mind being too full of other things to pay much attention to the tasks at hand.

Bo cast a dubious look in her direction, then back at Luke, but his cousin shrugged impassively and continued picking the edible pieces off of his bacon. "Say Daisy, you've been starin' off into space a good five minutes now," he said. "Whatcha' thinkin' about so hard?"

She blinked and focused on Bo. "Hmm?"

"He said you ain't paid a lick of attention to anything all mornin'," said Luke. "You got somethin' on your mind?"

"Oh nothin'," she said with a shrug. "Just thinkin' is all. We've had some pretty wild times th' last couple of years, haven't we?"

"You could say that again," agreed Bo, "I 'spect we've all put a little more gray in Uncle Jesse's beard."

"It's funny how one thing makes ya' think of another," she said "I was just sittin' here thinkin' about goin' into work today, an' I suddenly remembered that time we was all held hostage at th' Boar's Nest."

"Boy, wasn't that a time?" said Luke, shaking his head. "Close shave on that one for sure. I think that one gave_ me_ a couple a' gray hairs."

"Say fellas...whatever happened down there in that tunnel?" she asked. "Didja ever get through th' concrete wall Boss put up?"

Bo nodded. "We sure did, course then we ended up not even needin' it. How come you're askin'?"

"Oh, I was just wonderin'," she said. "Boss swears he hears rats crawlin' around down there. Just thought maybe they were comin' in through th' hole."

"I'm surprised they ain't taken over th' place, seein' as how Boss and rats are near enough t' kin," said Luke. "You know, me an' Bo could go down there an' patch it back up for ya'. Wouldn't be no trouble."

She shook her head. "No, you'd better just leave it. Ya' never know - around here, we might just need it again someday."

* * *

The night was clear and the air held the warmth of coming spring as Daisy shooed the last of the stragglers from the Boar's Nest and locked the door behind them. She cleared the tables and counted down the till and completed her other chores hastily before finally setting to the task which had been on her mind since earlier that morning. She took a small flashlight from underneath the bar and stuck it in the pocket of her jacket. She'd need it where she was going.

Little had changed in the four years since Bo and Luke had used the secret passageway under the storage room to try and escape from the crooks which had been holding them hostage in the bar. Sacks of corn littered the floor, hold overs from a decade earlier when Boss had run a scheme to sell hybrid corn seed, though it had been nothing more than old feed corn.

One by one, she dragged the sacks away from the center of the room until the trap door was visible. No one had ever bothered to nail it back down, but it fit so snugly in place that she was forced to pry it up with her keys. Cold air, mixed with the smell of mildew and damp earth, wafted up from the dark hole in the floor, and she turned on her flashlight and leaned over, shining it down into the darkness. The beams played feebly over dim shapes far below and over the ancient wooden ladder that led down from the top.

She ran her hands nervously through her hair, it was a hell of a long way down – further than she'd expected, and for a moment her resolve faltered. She snapped off the flashlight and backed away, looking around at the quiet storage room with its shelves of canned goods and supplies.

_Go home_, the room seemed to whisper. _Go home and forget this crazy idea._

It wasn't too late. There was nothing set it stone, yet...nothing that anyone else would ever have to know about. She could go back home – back to playing the game and living a lie, while her heart rotted away with grief and guilt as she tried to forget the man locked away in a concrete prison cell.

But her mind kept coming back to Enos, and to that deadness in his eyes. They had harbored the look of someone who had lost the will to live. If she failed here, it wouldn't matter what happened with his case five or ten years down the road -the man who he had once been would be dead long before that. She prayed that it wasn't too late already.

It was that knowledge - the fact that she and her plan were all that stood between Enos and death, that forced her back to the hole in the floor. She turned the flashlight back on and held it with her teeth as she swung herself down onto the rotten ladder. There would be no turning back, not this time. Too many times in her life she had taken the easy way out. If she died trying to save him, or ended up wearing her own number and orange jumpsuit, then at least she would have been true to herself - and to him.

She climbed down - slat after slat, hand over hand, into the engulfing darkness, not daring to look below her until at last her foot touched solid ground. She stood in a narrow tunnel, its walls cut haphazardly and left with jagged outcroppings that cast strange shadows over the walls. It stretched out before her, meandering around barrels stashed in alcoves or stacked one on top of another. Behind her was only a flat face of rock ending in a small storage area.

She walked forward, trying to ignore the echoes of her footsteps that sounded like someone following behind her. At the end stood the remnants of a concrete and cinder-block wall with a foot wide crevice where Bo and Luke had managed to break through it to the other side. Bracing herself against the wall, she leaned through the narrow opening and shined her flashlight around.

The tunnel didn't continue straight, but instead opened into a larger tunnel which ran perpendicular to it. Her light played over parts of a frame which braced the smooth walls and ceiling and a set of narrow tracks that ran along the ground, down its length and out of sight. With a start, she realized that this was not just a tunnel carved by Boss to hide his moonshine. It was not the work of an amateur, hacking about indiscriminatingly, but that of a mind who knew the ways of building such things. She'd stumbled into a mine shaft.

The hills of Hazzard and the surrounding counties had once been host to some of the richest silver mines around, but that had been in the early part of the century, before the depression had moved the prospectors onto other parts of the country. They were all but forgotten now, having been abandoned long before she was born.

She climbed through the hole and walked forward down the tracks as far as she dared until she came to a place where the shaft forked, and the fear of losing her way turned her back around. The mine shafts were like a labyrinth, miles of twisting and turning tunnels that ran underneath the county. There were rumors of people who'd gotten lost forever down here, and parents had been telling them to scare kids away from the old mines for generations.

There were ways out of them, though, and some of the Ridge-runners had used them in the past to smuggle moonshine through the county. In fact, Henstep McCullum, an old friend of Uncle Jesse, used to have a map of the mines in a frame on a wall in his house...

* * *

The McCullum house sat deep in the woods on the ridge than ran along the border between Hazzard County and Choctaw County. Daisy drove down Ridge Road the next afternoon, trying to remember exactly where the entrance to the homestead was located. It had been ten years or more since she'd been there, when Henstep and his wife used to host the Ridge-runner Reunion in their home.

Like many moonshiners, the McCullums valued their privacy, and the house had been built far back from the road. It took Daisy three drive-by's before she spotted the pair of well worn ruts to the side of a white mailbox that marked the entrance of their driveway. She followed them until, after a quarter of a mile, they widened into a paved gravel lane that formed a circle drive in front of a modern two-story brick house and a barn that set beyond it at the tree-line.

She parked in front but waited, gathering her nerve. After his wife passed away, Henstep had left the house to his daughter, Amy, and had moved into the Shady Pines Retirement Community in Choctaw, against her protests – or so the rumors went.

It was Amy that made Daisy nervous – not because of any bad blood between the two of them, but because they simply didn't know each other well. Growing up, they'd been as different as night and day - while Daisy had spent the majority of her formative years tromping about Hazzard's swamps with Enos and wearing ratty hand-me-downs, Amy had been the captain of the cheer-leading team with a face and figure right out of some Hollywood magazine. She'd broken the heart of every boy in Hazzard High -_save one_ - by turning them all down. Amy had only ever had eyes for Enos, and she had been in love with him for as long as Daisy could remember.

What had begun as children, with Daisy gleefully teasing him about Amy's smothering attention (much to his chagrin), had grown later into a secret jealousy over the fact that he endured Amy's romantic overtures with patience while at the same time dismissing her own as nothing more than friendly bantering. And then, it had been Amy he'd gone to that Christmas Eve when Daisy had invited Darcy over. She had resigned herself that any day she would hear about their engagement when he'd broken off his and Amy's friendship. She'd never asked him about it, and he'd never discussed it with her.

Finally, Daisy climbed down from the Jeep and walked up to the house. Before she had a chance to knock, she heart the knob turning and the door opened. A tall woman with blond hair and blue eyes frowned in confusion at her. "Daisy? I wondered who it was sittin' out in th' drive."

"Hey Amy," she started, unsure how one began a conversation that ended with her asking for help in perpetrating a crime. "I...I'm sorry t' bother ya'. I hope it ain't a bad time."

Amy's eyes searched her face, warily. "It's fine, Daisy. Come on in." She led them down a hallway, painted a pale beige and covered with pictures of her brothers' families, to a cozy living room paneled in oak with a green couch and coffee table and a large Vermont wood-burning stove. It was the same as she'd remembered from visits when she was younger.

"I haven't been in town much, lately," Amy was saying. "With th' corn being so bad this last year, I've had to run th' shine up myself instead of payin' Jake t' do it." She waved at the couch. "Have a seat. You want anything? I didn't bake this mornin', but I've got coffee."

Daisy sat down but shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

Amy pulled a chair in from the table in the adjoining kitchen and sat down on it to the other side of the coffee table. Formalities dispensed with, an uneasy silence hung between the two women for a long moment before Amy sighed. "I reckon there's only one reason you'd be comin' t' see me," she said, at last with a worried look in her eyes. "How is he?" Daisy felt her throat begin to tighten at the memory of the last time she saw him and looked down.

"No, never mind...don't say it," Amy said, softly. "I can read it on your face."

She looked back up. If there was one person whom she could trust when it came to Enos, it was her. "I need your help, Amy."

The woman didn't miss a beat. Her eyes narrowed with unspoken questions. "What kind of help are you talkin' about?"

The McCullums were cut from the same cloth as the Dukes and Strates - in every aspect but their profession they were law-abiding citizens, but like most moonshiners in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a common thread ran through them all and when push came to shove, they stood together... regardless of which side the law was on.

"Your father...your dad, he had a map...a...a map of th' mines...of th' tunnels..."

There was a flash of understanding in Amy's eyes, and the hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth. She said, with quiet calm, "Tell me your plan, an' what you need."

Daisy shook her head slowly. "I don't have much of a plan, not yet, except I think we could use the tunnels."

Amy's gaze grew unfocused as she pondered over what Daisy had said. She nodded. "Th' mine shafts'll be th' way t' go," she murmured. Her glance snapped back to Daisy. "Wait just a minute." She jumped up from the chair and ran out of the room. A few minutes later, she came back with a folded piece of paper which she spread out on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was the map of the mines Daisy had remembered from before.

"Where're you thinkin' of goin' in?" she asked, studying it. "There's no entrances close t' town, so you'll need t' find a way t' get out fast." She looked back up. "March 6th, right?"

Daisy nodded. "It's the only chance I'll have. There's an entrance under th' Boar's Nest that meets up with a mine shaft. If I can get there, I can throw off th' trail for a while."

Amy found the nearest mine shaft to the bar and marked an 'X' beside it and circled a large area to the east of it. "You can't use these here. Th' main section caved in a couple years back when we had all those heavy rains, an' I have no idea about th' other parts..."

Daisy pointed to a main shaft that seemed to run north up to the ridge. "What about this one? You know where it comes out?"

She shook her head. "They know his dad was a moonshiner. They'll have cops crawling all over th' ridge before you even have time t' get there," she said. "Your best bet's gonna be here." She made another 'X' on the far side of the ridge, close to Lake Choocha-cooble.

"That's gotta be ten miles or more! We'd never get that far in th' mines!"

"It's been done," Amy assured her. "My cousin made a run through there a couple years back, just to check and see if it was still passable. It's about seven miles from your starting point to where it comes out on the other side of th' county." She looked up at Daisy. "If you're gonna do this, don't screw it up. You go out this way, an' you've got a shot."

Daisy sighed heavily an' shook her head. "I don't even know where t' go after that. We can't just hole up in Choctaw County. They'd find us before long, no matter where we were."

Amy grinned. "That I _can_ help with," she said, "I know a guy who runs sort of a safe-house, mostly for boot-leggers on th' run from the Feds an' such. He's an old friend of Otis Strate and my pop...used t' come around once in a while when me an' my brothers were kids. Railroad guy."

"He worked for th' railroad?"

Amy laughed. "No...not exactly." She circled an area labeled Black Snake Quarry up near Lake Choocha-Cooble. "Look. This shaft comes out here. One of my usual runs is over t' McCaysville where this guy's son, Matt, picks up from me and takes it on to Knoxville. Th' day before, I'll drop th' truck off at th' quarry at the entrance to the mines, an' you an' Enos can make th' run for me instead. I'll let Matt know what's goin' on, an' he'll take it from there."

"This Matt guy...you trust him?"

She leveled her eyes at Daisy. "I woudn't hand Enos over to him if I didn't," she said. "Anyway, it all depends on what th' first part of your plan is. Gettin' out of town an' to th' Boar's Nest is gonna be the hard part." She looked questioningly at Daisy.

"I haven't gotten that part figured out, yet," she admitted.

"If I thought I'd have a chance, I'd do it myself, Daisy."

She nodded, overwhelmed by what was sounding like part of a plan that might actually work. She stared at the map for a minute before looking back up at Amy. "I don't know what t' say," she said, quietly. "I ain't gonna be able t' repay you for helpin' me with this."

Amy frowned, slightly, and shook her head. "I don't have anything against ya', Daisy, 'cept that you've never appreciated what you've got. I would've given anything t' be in your shoes." She paused and looked away, her eyes shining with tears. "I still would give anything...but he doesn't love _me_, Daisy," she said, softly, "he loves _you_. He always has, an' he always will."

"I'm...sorry, Amy."

"No!" she almost shouted, "I don't want you t' be sorry. I want you t' love him back, 'cause he deserves it. I'm doin' this for_ him_, not for_ you_." She took a deep breath. "I'll leave directions to the meeting place in McCaysville an' th' keys in th' glove compartment."

Amy folded the map and handed it to her, as a tear slid down her cheek. "Th' truck'll be there, Daisy. You do your part, I'll do mine, but don't come back t' visit. We're far enough apart from each other socially that no one oughta be pokin' around up here askin' questions anytime soon. You should have enough of a head start to get where you need t' go."

Daisy felt her own eyes sting with tears as she took the map. "Thank you, Amy." She reached out and hugged Amy who embraced her back.

"Take care of him, Daisy," she whispered, "I'll be prayin' for you both."


	32. The Waiting Game

_"If your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough."  
_-unknown

* * *

_Early Tuesday, March 4, 1986_

* * *

In a small town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a storm was brewing. The knowledge was held only by two women, polar opposites in their personal lives and yet bound together by the common goal of one man's salvation. He was the center of the storm, the eye of the coming cyclone.

Amy's collaboration had strengthened Daisy's courage enough to begin putting her plan in motion, but still there were days like today when the realization of what she was about to do left her breathless with anxiety. Her plan was a long shot at best, nearly guaranteed to get her killed or caught, but planning wasn't her strong suit. Whenever trouble had visited the Dukes, the planning had been _Luke's_ job.

It was well after mid-night now, and the last of the Boar's Nest patrons had stumbled out a good half-hour before. The night was clear and quiet as she opened the door and stood leaning against the jam. The road beyond the single streetlight was deserted and she felt a stab of sorrow, remembering all the nights Enos' patrol car had sat just beyond the ring of light, waiting for her to walk safely out.

She missed him more than ever, and if God would grant her only one day to live over again - knowing what she knew now, she'd never let him go again. Maybe...just _maybe_...she would get that chance again. This time next week, she would know because, by this time next week, the deed would be done and past.

She propped the door open and walked out to her Jeep. In the backseat were two backpacks and a lantern which she took back into the quiet bar and to the storage room, which was becoming a familiar haunt to her lately. As she pried up the corner of the trapdoor, her eyes caught on the chip that had come off of the panel two nights ago. She'd been careless, using an large screwdriver to wedge underneath the corner.

The scar on the panel screamed out at her like a flashing neon sign, and she wished she had a way to nail it down after they were in the tunnel to dissuade any cops from checking it, but she knew that would be impossible. The nearest she would be able to come to concealing any evidence in the Boar's Nest was sitting on a high shelf, rotting in a shallow dishpan. The rank odor of spoiled food wasn't strong yet, but by the time she needed it, it ought to work out nicely.

She carried the light down first - a Coleman Double Mantel Kerosene lantern she had purchased new from Rhuebottom's General Store a week earlier, along with a full gallon of Kerosene. She sat the lantern down near the bottom of the ladder and lit it, suffusing the tunnel in a warm, steady glow.

She had hoped to have a chance to walk the route before they needed to leave, but Uncle Jesse and the boys had been giving her odd, concerned looks for the last few days and it had been hard to get away from them. It had started when she'd boxed up a generous amount of her belongings and donated them to the Orphanage. She had thought it a logical thing to do at the time, but in hind-sight she realized that it had seemed suspicious. Uncle Jesse had been "hovering" around her ever since, a sure sign that she had one of "those talks" coming in the near future. She had avoided him like the plague, knowing he could sense a lie before it even crossed her lips.

Protecting her family was as important to her as saving Enos. There could be no witnesses, no evidence left behind, nothing to implicate them. No one would know of her plans until after they were gone. For better or worse, she would be on her own until they were able to get out of the mines and on their way to McCaysville.

She took the backpacks down next, one by one, and deposited them at the far end of Boss' make-shift tunnel, just outside the entrance to the mine shaft. For a moment she stared at them, at the light shining off the buckles and snaps. They weren't pretty or stylish, they were the kind meant for getting a job done and lasting through the effort.

One of the backpacks was Luke's, used during his tour with the Marines, which had been slowly dry-rotting in the hallway closet for the last decade. The other was Enos', newer, but well worn, it had seen more than a few overnight fishing forays in its lifetime. In fact, she'd found it already stocked – not with provisions, but with all the nick-naks an experienced angler spending a night out in the woods might need. In it had been a compass, jack knife, fillet knife, flashlight, matches in a waterproof container, roll of toilet paper, can opener, tin plate, fork, cup, fishing line, a handful of fishy-smelling lures, and his retractable fishing pole that Luke had given him three Christmases ago when he'd drawn his name.

Into the top of both packs she'd stuffed what clothing she thought they each might need, but since she had no way of knowing where they were going or how long they would be there, it was a guess at best. Luke's backpack had loops for carrying a bedroll on the bottom, and she'd sewn duplicates into Enos' as well. Each now held a rolled up wool army blanket - somewhat scratchy, but warm, that she'd sewn up lengthwise into makeshift sleeping bags.

_Three days..._

Her heart fluttered at the thought. Seventy-two hours from now, it would be March 7th, and the phrase, "_give me liberty or give me death_" would take on a whole new meaning.

Switching on her flashlight, she took one last long look around before turning off the lantern and climbing back up the ladder. She checked her watch; 12:34am. Rosco would be back at the station now. _Pulling Enos' shift_, she thought. Cletus had worked the morning and evening shifts and would already be at home. She needed to talk to the Sheriff, and if she wanted to stay off everyone's radar where that was concerned, there was no time like the present.

* * *

The lobby and booking areas of the Police Station were empty, but Rosco's squad car was parked outside so she followed the sounds to his office. The door was open and she almost barged in, but caught herself in the doorway as a dart sailed through the air towards the wall on the far side of his desk where a picture of Boss Hogg had been taped crookedly.

The dart smacked the picture and fell to the floor.

"Mmuuh, I'll show _you_ who's boss, you overstuffed meadow-muffin!" Another dart hit Boss' likeness in the ear and stuck. Rosco laughed and muttered something unintelligible ending with, "...give me a tenth of a tenth of a percent...you cheapskate..."

Daisy was torn between the absurdness of Rosco and the seriousness of what she'd come for in the first place. She knocked softly on the door.

Rosco, in an amazing feat of acrobatics, managed to simultaneously fall out of his chair and lunge forward across his desk, ripping the picture of Boss off the wall. He gathered his bearings and looked up, his panic dissolving into a scowl.

"Good grief! You gave me a horrendous scare, Daisy Duke." He picked himself up, brushed himself off, and sat back down. "You nearly done scuffed my uniform."

"Rosco, th' only thing I scuffed is your pride." She nodded at the crumpled picture of Boss, still in his hand. "Bad day at th' office?"

"Huh? Oh that..." He tossed it in a desk drawer. "That's nothin'. What in th' blue heck are you doin' here at _this_ hour? Your date crawl back under a rock? Kew! Kew!"

"Funny, Rosco. Don't worry, I didn't come by just t' waste your time."

He looked down at his watch. "Well, you've already wasted two minutes of it, so get to it. You're disturbin' Flash, an' she needs her beauty sleep." Flash was sleeping deeply on a pillow beside Rosco's desk, oblivious to the two of them.

"Thursday night, I need t' be here."

Rosco shook his head. "Huh uh. There ain't no way I can let you visit Enos on Thursday night. They're sendin' a gaggle of rent-a-cops from th' State to watch everything."

She picked up a paper clip from the edge of his desk and unwound it nervously. As much as she and Rosco dug at each other, any hatred that might have once existed between the two of them had been tempered over the past six months. A mutual understanding, if somewhat strained and callused, had been borne of the common ground of worrying over Enos. And besides that, she owed him. He'd given her her badge back, and she'd been true to her word and kept the secret.

Her eyes settled on his. "I don't mean t' visit. I mean, I need you t' schedule me t' work. Here. As a deputy."

The cavalier attitude disappeared from his face, leaving him looking tired and older than normal. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Daisy...," he began, then paused and shook his head. "It don't matter anymore, Daisy."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Don't _you_ start on me, too, Rosco," she warned. "You know dang well he's innocent!"

"'Course I do." He scooped up a dart and hurled it into the wall where it stuck, drooping forlornly by itself. "But it don't matter what you believe, or I believe, or what anyone else _believes _anymore_, _Daisy," he said, bitterly. "He ain't getting' out. Like a damned bug in a bottle, an' there ain't nothin' we can do about it."

"That's not true," she said, softly. "There _is_ somethin', an' I'm about t' do it."

He said nothing, but his face blanched noticeably under its rugged tan. Like Enos, he was no idiot when push came to shove. "Just what are you talkin' about?"

"I think you know what I'm talkin' about, an' I don't-"

"Just zip it! I ain't gonna sit here an' listen t' some harebrained Duke scheme," he muttered, angrily. "That's th' last thing I need, your cousins runnin' around here causin' more trouble. I swear, Daisy, if they so much as _park_ outside this building while Enos is here, I'll-"

"Not them, Rosco, just me. No one else. That's why I need t' be the one here, an' I want you an' Cletus t' get as far away from Hazzard as you can. Somewhere that people will see you...somewhere you'll have an...an alibi. I owe you that much."

His face hardened, and he stood up, and with a start she realized she had made a serious mis-calculation by assuming he would be on her side.

"Listen here," he said, coldly, "You Dukes may think I'm a lousy Sheriff, an' you might be right about that, but if you think I'm gonna just let a Duke waltz in an'-"

"Rosco, _please," _she pleaded. "Not for _me_...for _Enos_. I swear, it would never come back to you. I _swear_ it, Rosco!"

"Get out," he said, pointing at the door. "Get out, an' stay out or you're gonna be wearin' a jumpsuit an' a number, too."

"Rosco, _please_!"

"Just...just git!"

"They're gonna kill him, Rosco!" she screamed, before running out the door.

* * *

Instead of driving straight home, Daisy turned off at the trail that led down to Hazzard Pond. It was as good a place as any to think, and she wanted to be alone and go over what needed to be done.

There was no breeze tonight. The water was still and lifeless, and so dark that it looked like oil. Near the bank on the far left side, stood an enormous oak tree. It was half dead - maybe more than half by now. It had been dying a little more each year ever since she could remember, and now only the very highest branches leafed out each spring while the rest of the tree remained bare and dormant. It was easily three and a half feet in diameter, it's bark broken off in irregular chunks around a large gash left over a decade ago when the tree had been struck by lightning.

She sat down against its trunk, leaned back and closed her eyes. The wind was still, but the night was alive with the sounds of early March. The whistling chirps of the spring peepers and the rattle of cicadas echoed from the woods and the reeds and cattails that grew in the marshy areas along the southern edge.

Rosco not letting her be at the station Thursday night was a blow, but it wasn't so much that she needed to be there inasmuch as it would be harder to pull it off with Rosco around to recognize her. The crux of the plan was to figure out which patrol car would be carrying Enos back to Jackson the morning of the 7th and disable it. She would employ the same technique that Carl had used on the General in Bo's ill-fated Carnival of Thrills jump. The gas line had not been severed, but a small cut in it that had allowed the gas to leak out gradually.

Hopefully, they would run out of gas somewhere in southern Hazzard County, before making it to the larger Highway that went South towards Gainesville. She planned to follow close behind and, when their vehicle broke down, somehow convince them to let her take the prisoner on to Jackson. She'd dragged out the old uniform that she'd worn in her previous short-lived career as a Hazzard County deputy and with her badge, she hoped it would be enough to fool them into believing she was the real deal. The rest would have to be played by ear.

It was a piss-poor plan, and she knew it, and any number of things could go wrong at any given time. Not to mention the fact that she'd have to convince Enos himself to go along with it. The only ace she had in _that_ deck was that he'd know if he gave her up, she'd be arrested. For now, it was all she had been able to come up with though. She'd toyed briefly with the idea of somehow drugging all the cops at the station or just holding them up and breaking Enos out proper, but she'd dropped both of those as even worse ideas than the one she'd eventually settled on.

It was frustrating because if only she could just get him out of that cell and half-way up the stairs to where the Record's Room was, they would be home free. A week earlier, before she'd had any plan at all, she'd gone to the library and studied the blue-prints of the Sheriff's Department and discovered that the Record's Room had a ladder leading up to the roof of the building. Last Wednesday night, she'd climbed up the guttering to the roof and found the trap door at the top of the ladder, next to the air conditioning units. The next night, she'd come back with a hacksaw and cut the lock off of it.

But that idea had turned into a dead end. She just didn't see any way of getting him out of the jail - not with the State police milling around, and especially not with Rosco there.

* * *

It was nearly 1:30 am by the time she got home and pulled up in front of the old farmhouse. She had expected everyone to be asleep and she frowned at the warm glow of lantern light coming from the open door of the barn. It drenched the yard in soft shadows, reminding her of the past - of days when she, Luke, and Enos would play hide and seek in the dusky summer evenings while Uncle Jesse, Otis, and Moses Davenport sorted out boot-legging runs.

She slipped quietly through the doorway. Uncle Jesse and Bo were bent over the old tractor while Luke knelt beside it, unscrewing a spark plug. He handed it to Bo who passed him a new one. As Luke screwed it in place, Bo huffed and ran his hand through his hair in agitation.

"Dang it, Luke, you're puttin' it in th' wrong one! That's number two."

"The heck are you talkin' about?" said Luke, "It don't make any dang difference which one it goes in."

"Well, I'm tellin' you, that's number two. It ain't gonna run right if ya' stick it in th' wrong place."

"Bo, you've got about as much sense at fixin' tractors as you do pickin' women. None."

Bo flushed. "Dang it, Luke! I've just about had enough of your-"

"Would you two knock it off?" said Uncle Jesse, "I swear, neither one of ya' could open a can o' peas without diggin' into one another."

"Yes sir."

"Sorry, Uncle Jesse."

Daisy laughed and they turned towards her. "Late night, fellas?" she asked. "Uncle Jesse, it's way past your bedtime."

Uncle Jesse pulled out his pocket watch. "I'm feelin' it, too. How was work, baby?"

"No fights so I guess it was a good one. What's wrong with th' tractor?"

"Oh, we's hoping t' have it tuned up before supper so we could do some tilling tomorrow, but Rhuebottom's was out of spark-plugs, so we had to go clear down t' Capital City to find 'em."

"Well, I'm gonna hit th' hay, fellas. I'm just about worn out." She walked across the scattered straw to her uncle and gave him a hug. "Night, Uncle Jesse. I love ya'."

He kissed her cheek. "I love you, too, baby, sleep tight."

"I will." She started to leave, but then stopped and instead threw her arms around Luke's neck where he sat by the tractor.

"I love you, too, Luke. Good-night."

He nearly fell over, unbalanced by her embrace and surprised by her sudden affection. "Uh...night, Daisy. I love ya', too."

She released him and went over to Bo, who had always been more open about showing affection than his older cousin, and hugged him. "Love you, too, Bo."

"Shucks, Daisy, what's gotten into you," he asked, good-naturedly. "We know ya' love us."

"She must, t' put up with th' likes of _you_," groused Luke.

"I don't know," she said, her voice muffled against Bo's shoulder. "I guess sometimes I feel like I don't say it enough." She released him with a sigh. "Night, y'all."

When she had left, Bo turned to Uncle Jesse. "What th' heck do ya' think that was all about?"

Uncle Jesse shook his head slowly. "I dunno, Bo, but I'm worried about her. You boys might better keep an eye on her."

"You think she's worryin' about Enos' sentencing?"

"I think she's actin' too happy for how she's really feelin'."

"You know what worries _me_," said Luke, "is how she gave away half her stuff to th' orphanage last week. Said she was doin' some spring cleanin', but... It just don't sit right with me."

Bo looked startled. "You don't reckon she'd do somethin'...well.._.foolish_...do ya?"

"I don't know, Bo," said Uncle Jesse, "but we'd best watch her. Just in case."


	33. Breaker, Breaker

_"I will go down with this ship,  
__and I won't put my hands up and surrender.  
There will be no white flag above my door,  
I'm in love, and always will be..."  
_-Dido, White Flag_  
_

* * *

_Wednesday, March 5th, 1986_

* * *

Daisy's Jeep bounced over the uneven ruts in the unpaved road on her way home from running errands. She had the day off – not that it mattered, she would have found someone to cover for her anyway.

She was barely crawling over the rough road and concentrating on keeping Dixie between the ditches, and so she didn't notice the patrol car behind her until it was nearly on her bumper. Its siren 'blipped' twice and she turned around to see Rosco following her, his lights flashing.

Fear ripped through her. What if he had decided to arrest her to keep her from putting her plan in motion? She considered trying to get away, but there was nowhere to go, not with the road with the condition it was in. With a growl of frustration and anger, she pulled over to the side of the road and climbed out of the Jeep.

"Rosco, you know I wasn't speedin'!" She yelled as he walked up to her. "How dare you pull me-"

Without a word, the Sheriff grabbed her hand and pressed a small object into it, closing his own tightly around hers. "Tomorrow night...can you be there at eight?"

Her breath caught in her chest as his blue eyes stared intensely at her. She nodded.

He dropped her hand and looked away, out of his element. He'd only planned out the traffic stop and that first line. "Cletus and Boss, they're...they're takin' M-Momma an' Lulu down t' Lake Oconee tomorrow. Momma's always wanted t' go... I don't know why," he said, in an aside to himself, "they ain't got nothin' Hazzard ain't got, 'cept higher prices." He shook his head. "If you can be there at eight, I'm gonna drive down an' meet them there at th' hotel. Cletus's car will be there at th' station if you need it."

"I..." She wasn't sure what to say.

"If you mess it up, I can't help you," he warned her, "so you'd better just forget any ideas about that right now. You get yourself caught, you're nothin' but a worthless Duke an' that's all th' GBI will ever hear outta my mouth."

"Rosco, this is _my_ idea. You didn't have nothin' t' do with it, I swear."

He rubbed nervously at his neck. "You just...you get him outta there and don't come back. If anyone deserves t' be in prison, it sure as heck ain't _him_. Man ain't done nothin' but good his whole dang life, an' I ain't gonna meet my maker with that on my conscience. You gotta plan, right? Don't tell me you're just gonna wing this."

She nodded, hoping he couldn't see the worry in her face when he'd mentioned having a plan. "I'll just need t' know which car will be takin' him back to Jackson on Friday morning. If you can find out for me before you leave..."

"There's only gonna be one car come Friday mornin'," he said, with slight smile. "You'll know." He nodded towards her hand, which was still curled around the unknown object. "That'll fit anything they've got on him. Don't lose it."

She opened her hand and her throat tightened as she closed her fist quickly back around the small silver handcuff key. When she looked up again, there were tears in both their eyes. "I'm sorry, Rosco, for doubting you."

He frowned at the tear that slipped from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. "You know, if..." He'd wanted to say, 'if I'd ever had a daughter', but his courage failed him. "...I reckon you ain't so terrible...for a _Duke_."

Her hug surprised him, and for a long second he could only stand there in shock as her voice whispered next to his ear, "Thank you...for everything." At last his paralysis broke and he put his own arms around the girl and hugged her back.

"Just don't' get caught," he sniffed, feeling oddly as though he'd lost his best friend, "And...and tell th' dipstick 'hello from Rosco'."

* * *

The rest of the day was uneventful, nothing but a waiting game, and it seemed to her that too much had to be stuffed into the morrow. That night she lay in her bed, for what she felt would be the last time in her life, and stared up at the ceiling. Her fingers toyed with the key that now hung from a narrow ribbon around her neck.

_Enos..._ She willed him to hear her, somehow, wherever he was. _Enos, it's almost over. I promise. Just stay strong, just one more day._

The trial was to begin at 8:00 am. Being only a sentencing trial, it would be short, but the jury was expected to take several hours to deliberate since the verdict was between life in prison or death by electrocution. Then later...that was when the real work would begin.

She fell asleep thinking of Enos and remembering the day he had sat behind a glass wall in the Fulton County Jail, with an endearing grin etched upon his face, and told her she was cute.

* * *

_Thursday, March 6_  
_8:03 am_

* * *

"All rise," called the bailiff, "honorable Judge Ernest Bennett presiding."

The shuffle of feet and papers filled the small courtroom as people stood up. At the Prosecution's table, Mr. Blair glanced over at the Defense's side where Gary stood beside a prisoner in hand-cuffs and shackles who vaguely resembled a man who had once been a deputy of the county. The judge sat down and the crowd resumed their seats as he began the proceedings.

Daisy tried with all her might to keep her eyes trained on the judge's platform, but more than once they slid rebelliously to the right, watching Enos instead. She had planted herself in the row nearest to the door, not knowing if she could stand to watch the entire trial. Even now, she a felt righteous anger over his physical condition welling up inside her, and the last thing he needed was for someone to make a scene.

The sentencing trial seemed even more grueling than the previous criminal trial. Mr. Blair enjoyed free rein to smear Enos' character for all it was worth and gallantly pointed out, in full grisly detail, the murder as he believed it had happened and why Enos should ride the lightning. Listening to him, one would think that Enos was a cross between Jack the Ripper and Norman Bates. He dragged his experts up again who espoused the belief that the body was Darcy's and that he had been bludgeoned and run-over...by Enos...of course.

Gary, on the other hand, gave a half-hearted plea for life in prison. His defense seemed shallow and not up to par with the caliber of lawyer that Daisy knew him to be. She suspected that Enos had told him not to bother...or something to that effect. Still, she thought the jury voting for the death penalty seemed far-fetched - not that it mattered one way or another. He was never sitting foot in Jackson Diagnostic again.

The trial, as she had predicted, was short and lasted a little over an hour and a half. After Gary had finished presenting the Defense's mitigating factors, the Judge motioned for Enos to stand up and addressed him personally.

"Mr. Strate, you have indicated that you would like to address the court this morning prior to the imposition of the sentence. You aren't required to say anything, but the law does give you that right and opportunity. Would you like to do so at this time?"

Enos said something, but his soft voice was indecipherable.

"Sorry," interrupted the judge. "Counselor, if you would turn on the microphone at your table."

Gary fiddled with it until a pop and a shrill whine sounded over the courtroom speakers. He turned down the volume.

"If you could repeat that, Mr. Strate. Would you like to address the court at this time?"

"Yes sir, Your Honor."

"Very well, you may begin when you're ready."

His voice was still quiet, even with the microphone. Daisy expected him to tell the jury once again of his innocence, of how he could never have done such a thing to anyone. Instead what she heard left her feeling as though a jagged piece of ice had settled in her stomach.

"If it pleases the court," he said, "On the evening of March 23rd, 1983, I was responsible for the death of Darcy Kincaid. If I had done my duty as an officer of the law, he would still be alive today. In light of that fact, I humbly ask the court to disregard the advice of my attorney and sentence me to death for my crimes." For the first time, he raised his head. "Thank you, your Honor. I reckon that's all I have t' say."

The room was suddenly alive with whispers and surprised murmuring which silenced as the judge banged his gavel.

"Your request is so noted, Mr. Strate. If there is nothing further, I will remind the court of-"

The door shutting behind Daisy cut off the remainder of the Judge's words. She ran down the hallway to the bathroom and locked the stall door behind her before dissolving into tears. He'd told her in his letter that he'd rather have them kill him - that he'd rather die than live the rest of his life in prison. She understood better than anyone what his last request was all about. It was the only way he knew of getting his way - to die as himself, not as an old man who had slowly gone insane.

Through the duct work of the restroom, she heard the Judge dismiss the jury to their deliberations. She checked her watch. It was only 9:45.

She splashed water over her face and stared resolutely at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. "I doesn't matter," she said, aloud, "it doesn't matter what they say or what they come back with. It's over. This time tomorrow, it'll be over." She took another swipe at her eyes with a paper towel before wadding it up and tossing it in the trash on her way out.

Instead of going back to the courtroom, she found herself wandering into the lobby of the Sheriff's Station. Gary was talking to Rosco and Cletus. His face looked troubled, and she was certain he hadn't known what Enos was going to say.

She wandered over to them, trying to catch what the young lawyer was saying.

"...Choctaw, but I don't know."

"What about Choctaw?" she asked.

Gary turned to her. "Mr. Hogg was asking if there was a chance he would be moved closer than Jackson," he explained. "If he gets life, they might transfer him to Choctaw State Penitentiary, but I don't know. It's a hell of a better place than GDCP and they're overcrowded as it is. Make it a lot easier to visit."

She nodded. "That'd be good."

"You think they'll go with life in prison then?" asked Cletus.

"I think his chances were better before he shot his damn mouth off about deserving to die," said Gary, frowning, and Daisy fought the urge to tell Cletus to shut his trap before something flew into it.

"You mean you think they'll give him th' _death_ penalty? Buzzards on a buzz-saw!"

"Jurors like to have their minds made up for them. Clears their consciences. We'll know after -"

The phone rang in the booking area and Rosco, who had listened to the entire conversation without speaking, went to answer it.

"Ros-_co_ P. Coltrane." His voice shaking was the only thing that betrayed his calm, aloof exterior. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, he's here. Just a minute." He looked up. "Mr. Hunsaker, it's for you."

"Thanks, Sheriff." He climbed the steps up from the lobby and took the receiver from Rosco. "Hello, this is Gary Hunsaker..." His face paled as he listened. "Oh. Okay, thank you. I'll pass it on." He sat the receiver down. "Dear God...," he murmured, staring down at the table in front of him. "The jury's already back."

He rushed off, leaving Daisy, Cletus, and Rosco alone in the lobby.

"Wow! That sure was fast," said Cletus, happily. "They must be hungry for lunch."

As Cletus left through the double doors, Daisy checked her watch. It was only 10:05. _It was too early! Too early... _Panicked, she grabbed Rosco's arm. "Oh my gosh! Rosco, if they sentence him before noon, they'll take him back to Jackson_ today_!"

Rosco jumped in surprise. "Ouu...geet! That's bad. That's _real_ bad."

Her mind searched for anything that might delay them. _Power_... "The power! Rosco, where's th' breaker box for the courthouse?"

"Uh...uh, d-down in th' Records Room, behind th' boilers."

"Listen, I'm gonna go throw the breakers."

The sheriff shook his head. "That ain't gonna slow 'em down much, Earl at th' power company'll have that figured out in two shakes." He sat down heavily on the chair beside the desk.

"Don't call Earl, Rosco, call Cooter. I can stall him fixing it 'till after lunch."

"Cooter," he murmured, absently, and Daisy had a feeling he hadn't heard a word she said.

"Rosco!"

His face jerked back up to hers. "Huh?"

"Call Cooter to fix th' power."

He stood up. "Right. I can do that." He motioned for her to leave. "You'd better git."

Daisy ran back through the lobby and down the stairway, throwing open the door to the Records Room. She flipped on the light switch and shut the door behind her. The boilers were at the back of the room, behind three rows of dusty file cabinets stacked high with boxes of county records which shifted precariously in the space of her passing. Between the wall and the shelves, someone had piled several dozen chairs. She clambered over them and found the large metal box bolted into the cinder block wall.

It was locked.

She spent a minute beating at the lock without success before she noticed the spray painted sign to the left of the box. She laughed in relief at the letters that read, "Main Switch, 480 volts". Above them was a long metal lever in the "on" position. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the lever and pulled it down. The light in the Records Room snapped off, plunging her into darkness.

* * *

Above in the courtroom, the lights and air-conditioning cut off abruptly and an abnormal stillness filled the room.

"We'll wait here for a minute," said Judge Bennett, "and see what happens. Probably just tripped a breaker. If everyone could please keep quiet and seated."

In the Sheriff's Station, Rosco dialed Cooter's garage.

"Crazy Cooter comin' at ya'."

"Cooter, I need you t' come over here and fix th' power."

There was a pause. "Uh, _Rosco_? Is that _you_?"

"Now, Cooter, I ain't got time t' jaw with ya' over th' phone. Are you gonna come over here or do I need t' send Cletus after ya'?"

"Now, just wait a minute here," he argued. "I don't even know what's goin' on!"

"We're havin' some trouble with the lights," said Rosco.

"Well, what's the problem?"

"They ain't workin.'"

"Rosco, I ain't no electrician. Where's Earl?"

"Earl's...busy. I'm warnin' ya'-"

"Alright, just hold your horses, Rosco. I'll be over there in a minute an' see what I can do."

Rosco hung up the phone and smiled. "Kew, Kew! I love it, I love it!"

As he sat in the semi-darkness, he thought about the risk he was taking in helping Daisy. In his mind, he considered it a sort of penance. He'd done his fair share of framing and throwing innocent people into jail - namely those with the last name of Duke, so many times he could hardly remember the half of them anymore. But, as much as he might threaten them about having them hauled off to Atlanta on Federal charges, it wasn't serious anymore. He hadn't been serious about it since Jason Steele had come to town and nearly killed them (and him).

But _Enos_... If God had wanted to teach him a lesson, he'd done a right good job of it by taking his deputy. He'd meant what he'd said to Daisy about Enos not deserving any of this. He ought to know. If anyone deserved what that man had gone through, Rosco figured he'd probably be high on the list.

Rosco left the booking area and went down to the Records Room.

"Daisy?" he called, softly. "You still in here?"

"Over here, Rosco," she replied, from across the dark room. "Did it work?"

"Well, I don't know if the judge has sent th' jury back, yet, but the power's off in the whole building. Cooter's on his way over."

"Thanks, I'll wait for him down here."

He shut the door behind him, leaving her alone again as she sat down with her back against the wall and waited.

* * *

Rosco looked up as the station door opened and Cooter walked into the dim lobby. "Bout time ya' numbskull!"

"I still don't know what I'm doin' here," griped Cooter. "Cars is one thing, fixin' power's another kettle of fish. Where's th' breaker box? Y'all probably just tripped a breaker."

"Down there in th' Records Room," said Rosco, pointing to the stairs. "Careful, some of them rats down yonder are bigger than Flash."

"Thanks a lot, Rosco," he muttered, and headed down the stairway.

The room was pitch black and he was glad he'd grabbed a flashlight before he'd left the garage. As it was, he nearly tripped over all the junk littering the floor, and when a hand reached out and grabbed his arm, he about jumped out of his skin. He swung around, shining his flashlight in Daisy's eyes. "Daisy Duke! What in th' world are you doin' down here? I figured you'd be up in th' courtroom." Cooter himself hadn't gone to the sentencing trial. He didn't have the stomach for it. "You seen a breaker box around here?"

She tightened her grip on his arm. ""Cooter...wait. Please, you've gotta wait t' turn it back on... just until after noon."

"What's goin' on?" he asked, keeping his voice low. He felt like he was in some crazy dream, standing here in the dark with Daisy. Why would she need him to wait to turn the power back on? "Lord, Daisy, you ain't plannin' somethin' crazy are ya'? Dear God, please tell me you ain't!"

She didn't answer and his heart sank. Visions of Daisy wearing hand-cuffs and leg-irons flew across his mind. He'd never had much family to speak of, but he'd always thought of her as near to flesh and blood as one could get without being kin, and he'd always thought if he'd been younger maybe it would've been_ him_ instead of Enos she'd have been closer to.

He knew how she felt, hell the whole town knew Enos had gotten railroaded and as much as he feared for Daisy's freedom, he understood. If she'd come up with a plan...

"You gotta know what you're gettin' into. Daisy, this ain't no joke."

"I don't wanna hear about it. And if you so much as breathe a word to Bo, Luke, or Uncle Jesse, I swear-"

"I didn't just fall off th' turnip truck yesterday, Daisy. I know how things work, an' I know how t' keep my trap shut. Now, what'd'ya need?"

"Cooter - "

"No!" he shouted, catching her by surprise. "You know I care about ya' like you were my sister. You let me help ya' out."

She thought about all the things she needed to do before the end of the day. "Actually, Cooter... there _is_ one thing you can do for me."

And suddenly, just like that, it was settled.


	34. Black Friday

_"I could kiss you darlin, but these hands are stained.  
I could beg forgiveness, but it can't bring me home again.  
...Oh, my love, I never I wanted it this way.  
You know I love you darlin,  
but it's in Hell that I must stay."  
-Joshua James, Black July  
_

* * *

_Thursday, March 6, 1986_  
_2:00 pm - 4:00 pm  
_

* * *

The dirt in the freshly plowed fields around the Duke farm was a rich brown, almost black, with new ruts where the metal tines of the tractor had laid open the earth. The ghosts of last summer's corn showed through here and there, the broken and sun bleached stalks like dead men's fingers, poking up through the dirt. The sharp, pungent smell of earth hung in the air and reminded Daisy of springs past when as a child she had followed behind Uncle Jesse's plow, mesmerized - and not a little sickened, by the swollen white grubs turned up in its wake.

She shook her head, clearing the memories, and shifted her position away from the sharp edge of the porch's corner post which had begun to dig uncomfortably into her back. As her mind turned from the distant past, it focused again on the more recent events of the day.

The courthouse's power had come on at twenty minutes after twelve, and the jury had sentenced Enos to death as he stood, mutely staring at some indiscernible spot on the wall across from him. She'd been in the second row from the front with Uncle Jesse and her cousins. _Too close_ – too close for her _not_ to study him, and to wish again, as she had wished a thousand times over the last few months, that she'd done things differently from the beginning. His features had shown neither happiness nor sadness, giving Daisy cause to wonder about the damage his spirit had already sustained.

As the gavel came down for the final time, he turned his head and his eyes found hers, and there - at last - was the emotion. Held in check, but deep and burning in the silence that stretched between them. Then they'd led him away. Away from her, and for all _he_ knew, from life.

She'd come back home alone, counting it a blessing that Uncle Jesse and the boys had headed up to Dewey Stoval's hardware store in Choctaw after the trial. Spirits had been low between all of them, and for once Uncle Jesse could find no words of wisdom. They had agreed they would all take a trip down to Atlanta on Monday to talk to Gary - to try and help out however they could with any appeals.

Quick math of the time and distance assured her that she would be unhindered by them for the rest of the afternoon.

The wind blew softly across the farmyard, ruffling her hair, and she smiled wistfully, thinking of how the fields would look in a few weeks, lush with new growth. It was like this that she wanted the place fixed in her mind - to remember everything as it should be, decently and in order. It was the only home she had ever known, and she would miss it.

* * *

_4:00pm - 5:30pm_

* * *

The shadows of early evening were creeping into the yard by the time she left, darkening the corners around the house and the barn. She carried only a small bag containing her Deputy's uniform and badge – everything else having already been stowed in the tunnels beneath the Boar's Nest. Around her neck hung a small silver key.

She left no note. The risk was too high that someone would find it early and disrupt her plans, or God forbid, if the GBI ever got their hands on it and thought Uncle Jesse and the boys had been complicit. She had tried as best she could to banish all thoughts of her family from her mind. There would be a time to grieve for that part of her life, but for now, there were things that needed to be done.

She climbed into Dixie, but her hand was shaking too badly to turn the key. Tears blurred the farmhouse and the window with the faded yellow curtains which looked out from her own room. She'd made those curtains in seventh grade... Her eyes drifted around the yard, settling on a long gouge in the weathered red paint of the barn where the handlebars of her bike had scraped it so many years ago...

Every flaw had a story, and every mark had a memory, and she rested her head against the steering wheel and cried for all the things she could not change and even more for what she must do to change the ones she could.

At last, she gathered her wits about her and started the Jeep. From the farm, she drove north, avoiding the main roads until she came out at the far end of Stillson Canyon, and there she stopped, just inside the turn off to Hickory Ridge.

It was hard to believe that this was the place that had started it all. Just a spot of sandy flat earth where drunken teenagers came to lose their virginity.

Easing the Jeep forward, she lined up its front wheels in a straight trajectory to the edge of the cliff, then stepped on the parking brake to set it and, keeping the transmission in drive, popped the hood.

With a small wrench from the Jeep's toolbox, she adjusted the nut at the end of the throttle cable until the Jeep's RPMs shot up, and the engine roared and labored as though it were hauling a heavy load up a steep mountain grade. Daisy slammed the hood shut and went back to the drivers side.

Her eyes followed the contours of _her_ - of Dixie, and her throat tightened with more tears. She was as much a part of the family as the General Lee.

"I'm so sorry, girl," she whispered, and leaned over and released the parking brake.

The tires spun and then caught and the Jeep shot out before her, downhill towards the edge of the ravine. In the length it took Daisy's heart to beat twice, it seemed to hang in the air, propelled out over the ridge by an invisible hand. Then it tilted and dropped and Dixie was no more.

It hit the side of the canyon once before ricocheting off of it and out into the lake at the bottom of the ravine. Daisy watched until it sunk beneath the murky water before walking back out to the road.

Her watch read 5:18 pm.

* * *

_6:00 pm - 7:30 pm_

* * *

"What I don't understand," said Cooter, "is how in th' heck you got all th' way out here _walkin_'."

Cooter had picked her up around the other side of the canyon, forty-five minutes after Dixie had entered her watery grave, and had been asking questions the entire time. Daisy wished he'd leave it alone. The less he knew, the better, and besides it would make his reaction genuine when they found the sunken Jeep. She was beginning to wish she'd never told him anything in the first place, but she'd been trying to tackle a way of getting from Hickory Ridge back into town without Dixie without success until he'd offered to help out earlier that day.

"Cooter," she said, wearily, "I really appreciate ya' pickin' me up."

She grabbed the dash to steady herself as he stepped on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. He rested his arm on the steering wheel and shifted to face her. His expression was grim and worried...far removed from the young man who'd once stolen the President's limo to go for a joy ride. Daisy found herself smiling at the memory despite the situation.

"Daisy...now...you know I ain't tryin' t' tell you your business-"

"Then don't, Cooter."

He pulled nervously at the brim of his dirty cap. His conscience had been making his stomach do loop-de-loops all afternoon, ever since the first excitement over her plan had dulled and the image of Daisy going to prison had wormed its way in instead. "Alls I'm sayin' is that, well, maybe you oughta rethink this."

"You were mighty gung-ho earlier t'day," she reminded him, "wantin' t' help an' all."

"I _do_, Daisy," he assured her. "It's just...well...not knowin' your plans is makin' me more nervous than a ceiling fan salesman with a bad comb-over. I sure wish you'd tell me just how you plan on gettin' him outta that there prison cell with all them State fellas around."

She felt the heat rising in her cheeks because she knew he wouldn't approve of her plan. Too many variables, too many chances for everything to go to Hell in a hand-basket. She turned to face the window without answering him, but a minute ticked by and then another, and with it her hope that he'd just give up and start driving.

"There's no way I'd be able to get him out at the Station. I'm gonna cut a slice in the gas line in the car they'll be taking him back in, like that guy did to Bo's car when he was doing the jump at the Carnival of Thrills. Then I'll grab him when they run outta gas. I've got that part all figured out," she lied. "Don't worry."

He shook his head. "I'm mighty glad you told me, 'cause that just plum ain't gonna work."

She stared back at him. "What do you mean, it won't_ work_?"

"I _mean,_ it won't work. The only reason Bo's car ran outta gas was because it was nearly empty to begin with and he was gunning the engine. They're libel t' get all th' way back to Jackson without runnin' out of gas in them police cruisers. I just filled both of 'em up earlier today."

"What am I gonna do then, Cooter?" she pleaded. "I gotta have them break down somewhere outside of town, somewhere before they get back to th' main highways." She sensed him pulling back, wanting to talk her out of it for good now that she'd divulged the details to him. "_Please,_ Cooter...I swear it'll be th' last favor I ever ask you for."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered. His eyes and expression were a study of the war within him. "You're gonna do it anyway, ain't ya'? Even if I don't help." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"I guess you know me pretty well."

He sighed. "Listen, Daisy, you're thinkin' too hard," he said, "you don't need t' be cuttin' on anything to make a car stop. You're libel t' get yourself or someone else killed doin' crazy stuff like that."

"If you've got any ideas, I'm all ears."

"Alls you've gotta do is just disconnect th' alternator. They ain't gonna get too far. The juice them cruisers drain, they'd be lucky t' get outta Hazzard."

"Wouldn't th' car just die right there in town?" She had to be certain, it wouldn't work for them to just be sitting there in front of the Police Station. "I need them to get away from town, at least."

His eyes took on the far-away look of someone figuring out how to solve a complex math problem or, in Cooter's case, how to un-fix a car. She hid a grin behind her hand because the thought occurred to her that if Cooter would ever look at a woman with the same dreamy expression as he did when he was thinking about a vehicle, he might not be living in a loft that smelled of car paint and sleeping in a bed with a stack of old tires for a box spring.

"Not if you waited 'till just before they were leavin' to disconnect it. Yeah...yeah...about four o'clock or so. Them batteries are big enough t' hold onto their charge for a few hours, anyway. I-"

He started to say something else, but then hesitated.

"What?"

"Oh, dang-blast it. _I'll_ do it," he said. "You just be ready with whatever plan you've got t' get him out, an' I'll take care of th' car or cars or whatever they've got out there in th' mornin'."

_Lord, bless Cooter with his simple ingenuity_, she thought. "Cooter," she she said, grinning, "I _knew_ you were a genius all along."

* * *

Rosco would say that she was "horrendously" early. She'd told him she could be there at eight and now as Cooter pulled the tow-truck into town, her watch read only six-twenty-five. She could hang around Cooter's shop for a while, but she got the impression she was making him nervous, so she decided to push her luck at the station.

Instead of going straight to see Rosco, she entered through the glass doors that led to the hallway between the courthouse and the station lobby and went down to the women's restroom to change.

She took her time, trying to use up as much as possible, but the longer she stayed, the more paranoid she began to feel. The doors to the courthouse were seldom locked and the restroom was commonly used by people who'd come into town. The last thing she needed was for someone she knew to see her in a Hazzard Deputy uniform.

The pencil skirt was uncomfortable and scratchy and her hair seemed to have taken on a mind of its own. Eventually she quit trying to put it up and slipped a band around it in a low ponytail that she thought looked a little more professional that it crackling over her shoulders with static electricity.

She held the badge in her hand, feeling its weight and the coolness of the metal, and before she could stop it, she thought about the day she'd been with Jude in a room at the Hazzard Hotel.

It was the badge he'd been wearing that had shocked her back to her senses. Now, months later, she understood why. How many times had she pinned Enos' badge onto his uniform? The times Boss had decided to fire or demote him accounted for three or four, and then there was the first time, when he was nineteen – full of young passion and eyes that had shown with excitement.

It had been that day she'd been thinking of as she kissed Jude, as her fingers explored the badge beneath his vest - thinking of Enos on graduation day and how proud he'd been to be a police officer, and of the day she'd first pinned his badge on him.

Her fingers had traced the points; one...two...three...four...five... _Five._

Enos' badge had six.

And she'd known then that she loved him - _known_, and yet still couldn't whisper it aloud to the furthest reaches of her mind.

She turned back to the bathroom mirror and over her own breast pocket, she pinned the six-pointed star.

* * *

She felt pale and a little sick as she walked through the doors of the Hazzard police station, her hands clammy and cold, her heart a rapid succession of staccato percussions. Never had she been so totally and thoroughly scared in all her life.

Rosco was sitting at the desk in the booking department, scribbling something with furious diligence, and she knew he was just as nervous. There were more guards there than she'd anticipated. Five of them, standing in a loose circle at the top of the stairway, with patches on their arms identifying them as members of the Georgia State Patrol. As much respect as they might deserve on any other day, today they were hired lackeys - standing between herself and Enos and his freedom.

She was still in the middle of the room, trying to catch snippets of what the men were laughing about amongst themselves, when Rosco caught her elbow, startling her.

"C'aint you Dukes tell time?" he asked, steering her away and out the double doors back into the hallway. "I said _eight_, not -" he looked at his own watch, "not seven-fifteen!"

"I-"

"I _can't_ trust you, see?" he sulked. "I don't know why I'm even doin' this in th' first place." He muttered unintelligibly.

Daisy laid her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "You're doin' it for Enos, Rosco. For justice."

"Yeah...yeah, I know," he said, "an' you don't know just how much it galls me, doin' th' right thing. Makes my innards feel like giblet gravy. If Boss finds out I-"

"He won't, Rosco. You just get yourself on outta here."

"I've got one more thing that needs doin' an' then I'm gone." He gave her appearance a quick once-over. "An' if you're gonna wear that get-up, you can at least make yourself useful an' file some papers. Cletus can't remember th' alphabet good enough t' figure out where anything goes."

He turned to go.

"Rosco -"

He didn't turn back, but stopped with his hand on the lever of the outside door. "Don't thank me, yet, Daisy," he said, softly.

And then he was gone.

Gone...until a short three minutes later when there was a horrible sound of crunching metal outside the Police Station. Daisy had already gone back into the lobby and she ran over to the window in time to see steam pouring from the hood of one of the two State Patrol cars parked outside. A moment later Rosco threw open the lobby door.

"Awwwll right, you numb-skulls!" he shouted, clearly addressing the State Officers. "Which one of you lug-nuts parked too close t' my vehicle? That's official police property, you know, an' someone's gonna have to pay for th' scratches on my tailpipe!"

All five of the officers ran over to the window. One of them let out a low whistle.

"Oh man, Jim, you ain't gonna make it home for lunch t'morrow."

"Th' hell I ain't!" said Jim, "I'll ride with Deek when we transport that scumbag back t' Jackson. I ain't stayin' around _here_."

One of them rounded on Rosco. "You idiot! Why th' hell did you back into it? There wasn't anyone in front of you!"

A murmur of "Stupid, hick cop!" came from another.

"I can call Cooter," Daisy offered. "He's th' best mechanic you'll ever find. I'm sure he'll have it fixed by supper time tomorrow, fellas."

If any of them had overlooked Daisy before, they noticed her now. One was indifferent, two nodded politely to her, and she felt the familiar mental undressing of herself by the last two which made her skin crawl.

"That'd be mighty nice, ma'am," said one of the polite cops. "It's getting late, though, I 'spect he wouldn't get to it 'till mornin' anyways." He walked forward and held out his hand. "Derek Johnson, ma'am, but everyone just calls me 'Deek'."

She took his hand. "Nice t' meet ya, sir," she said. "I'm Daisy Duke."

Rosco let out a sneer. "Daisy, I'm goin'. If I don't pick Momma up by eight, she'll leave without me. Mind you get that filing done, or I'm gonna cut your pay, your hours, an' your job."

"Yes sir, Sheriff."

The blinds smacked the window of the door as he slammed it behind him.

"Say, Daisy," said Deek, "We've gotta pull some long hours t' night. We were gonna deal out a hand of Texas Hold-em. You want in?"

She laughed. "Thanks, Deek, but you heard the Sheriff, I'd better get to work."

He tipped his hat to her and followed the other four officers up to where they were gathering at the table in the booking area. "Hey fellas, don't be startin' without me!"

Daisy sighed and went over to the basket of papers on the lobby desk _(Enos' desk) _that needed to be filed and scooped up a handful. She thought about the next day and what still needed to be done. Rosco had come through for her– there was only one car to worry about now, and Cooter would make quick work of that one come early morning.

* * *

_8:00 pm - 11:00 pm_

* * *

She was able to kill the first three hours with actual work. Rosco had been right, Cletus apparently had the letters "S" and "Z" mixed up, as well as a scattering of others. Papers were shoved haphazardly into their folders with little disregard for where they actually belonged. No wonder Enos had always volunteered to do the filing himself. It would have driven him batty to try and find anything in this mess.

That started thoughts of Enos – of the man somewhere in a cell just below her, and oh, how she wanted to go down there! She looked back up at the booking area, where the five officers were still playing cards. They'd gone through several rounds of Poker and Black-Jack and now had moved onto some strange version of cut-throat Spades where each of the five was playing as his own team. Five men who couldn't see the stairway from their vantage point, and she began to wonder if anyone had been left to guard Enos.

The time crept slowly by, and the filing was finished, but the cell below still held her thoughts. She had to know, if only for her own peace of mind, how many guards were down there. Keeping to the shadowed side of the stairwell, she crept down slowly until she could just see Enos with his back to her. She craned her head around the last corner. Against the wall sat one guard, reading a dog-eared paperback novel.

She went back up the stairs but stopped outside the door to the Records Room. Her plan of following the transport vehicle until it broke down was still a bad plan no matter how she sifted it, even if everything worked out perfectly with the car, there were so many other things that could go wrong. So many ways that she or Enos or both of them ended up caught or dead.

But...but in the Records Room was a ladder which led to the roof and to freedom. Right here, within their grasp. Here, at the station, there was only one variable. Only one guard. She wasn't wearing a service pistol, but she knew for a fact that there was a .22 Smith and Wesson revolver in the drawer of Rosco's desk. She'd seen it in there when he was looking for her badge.

And his office wasn't locked.

What if she could hold the guard up, toss him in a cell, get Enos out and get away? What if she could actually pull it off? That would be the question. If the cop drew on her, it would be all over.

She would be D-E-A-D.

She shuffled through more paperwork, trying to busy her mind with other thoughts, but it kept returning to the gun in the desk drawer and the solitary guard watching Enos.

* * *

_Friday, March 7_  
_1:00 am_

* * *

By 1:00 am, she had made up her mind. She was in this for better or worse, and counting the odds, she was better off against the one guard than with two or three the next day. She went to Rosco's office, opened the drawer and snatched out the revolver. She released the cylinder and spun it out.

It was empty.

But...it was the_ idea_ that counted. After all, the guard wouldn't _know_ that it was empty. Her fingers felt for the silver key around her neck. With a deep breath, she stuck the gun in the waistband of her skirt, and pulled the office door shut behind her. She cast a quick glance at the guys playing cards.

"Want us t' deal ya' in, pretty lady?" one of them called.

She cleared her throat. "No thanks, fellas. Sounds like fun, though."

Whether or not they responded, she didn't know, nor care. She started down the stairwell to the basement.

The gun shook wildly, even though she held it out in front of her with both hands, like a divining rod witching water from the parched earth. She was so intent on trying not to faint that it took her a full thirty seconds to realize that no one was saying anything to her at all. She looked up at the guard.

The book lay upside down on his knee, and his head rested in the corner where the high counter met the wall. He was sound asleep.

"Lord Almighty," she whispered, and it was another full minute before she could think well enough to break her own paralysis. She turned around towards the cells. Enos was asleep as well.

She ran over this new and unexpected scenario. The cops upstairs, immersed in a card game, out of sight of the basement stairwell...one guard watching Enos, asleep...the key to his cell hanging on the wall...the key to his hand-cuffs around her neck. She waited, hardly believing the Providence of it all.

She took the key ring down from it's nail and crossed over to the second cell. The rusty lock turned with a squeak and then a loud pop as it opened, and she shot a quick glance behind her at the guard as the door swung open, but he hadn't moved a muscle.

She went in and knelt beside the metal cot where Enos was sleeping. Her hand hovered over him, wanting to touch him, to make sure he was real and still breathing. In close proximity, the unhealthy paleness of his skin was more apparent and how much weight and muscle mass he had lost just in the last few months. Resisting the urge to wake him, she sat the key-ring down on the floor and took the hand-cuff key from around her neck. She unlocked the shackles from his ankles first and then the cuffs from around his wrists and slipped the key back around her neck.

She kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Enos. Enos," she whispered, "wake up."

His eyes fluttered and then opened. They looked back at her, confused.

"Enos, this ain't a dream. It's time t' go."

Sudden understanding dawned on his face, and he jerked himself away from her and sat up, pushing his back up against the bars. "What're you doin' here?" he whispered, fiercely. "Get out, Daisy."

She shook her head. "Huh-uh. Not this time, Sugar. I ain't leavin' here unless you're comin' with me."

"Daisy...Daisy, don't do this," he pleaded. He'd been worried that the Dukes might try something like this, but he wasn't Rosco and Boss' prisoner and they weren't under Hazzard's iffy justice system anymore. Breaking him out would mean hard time for anyone caught doing it. He leaned back towards her and grabbed her upper arms, giving her a gentle shake. "Whatever you think you're doin', hun, don't. I'm not comin' with you. Daisy, you gotta let me go."

He still held her arms and she lunged forward until only an inch separated their faces. "No. You didn't kill anyone, Enos, and I'm not about to let anyone kill _you_. Now, you can come with me or...or I can make you."

She pulled the revolver back out and held it up at him, but in a flash he grabbed it, disarming her and tossed it through the bars into the other cell. "I'd be much obliged if you didn't make me do this," he warned.

"Do what?"

He climbed off the bunk and picked her up and began to walk back to the door of the cell with her. She struggled against him, knowing he was planning to toss her out of the cell and lock it again, but he was still stronger than she was. The only thing she could think of to do was to bite him. She clamped down on his fingers, and with a yelp, he dropped her.

"Ding-dang, Daisy! What th' heck did ya' do_ that_ for?" he said, shaking his injured hand.

Looking for anything that might give her an advantage, she grabbed the shackles that had been around his ankles. Tightening one end around her own wrist, she sprang back to Enos and before he could stop her, fastened the other end to his.

He looked down at the shackle and back at her and shook his head in anger and disbelief. "Daisy Duke," he seethed, "you've done some things I can't say I thought was smart before, but this is just plain stupid. Unlock it."

"I don't have a key."

"What d'you mean, you ain't got a key! How'd you unlock it in th' first place?"

"Y' know, Sugar, as much as I'd love t' stay here an' chat, I think we'd best do it someplace else, before he wakes up." She pointed over at the cop who had unaccountably slept through all of their racket. "How many years d' you think they'll give me if he catches me?"

Torn between escaping or letting the woman he loved be caught breaking him out, Enos did the only thing he could. He followed her.


	35. End of Innocence

_"Offer up your best defense,  
but this is the end...  
This is the end of the innocence."  
_-Don Henley_  
_

* * *

**Part III**

* * *

The distance from the second cell to the door of the basement accounted for the longest walk Enos had made without shuffling in chains since the previous fall. His heart slammed against his chest, so loudly he thought surely it would arouse suspicion on its own. Daisy pulled him along, the chain taut between them, as he struggled to keep up and not trip on the steps.

He was surprised at the lack of guards - after all, he was a dangerous Death Row inmate now. It wasn't until Daisy stopped outside the door of the Records Room, and he heard a chorus of boisterous laughter from the vicinity of the booking station that he realized they were all just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone was going to be in a real fix come morning when the GBI learned that no one had been paying better attention to him. That and they could add another black mark to Hazzard's jail record. He had no idea how Daisy had gotten herself ensconced as a Deputy. Where th' heck was Rosco?

She pulled him inside the Records Room and flipped on the light.

"It'd be safer with the light off," she said, "but I don't need you breakin' a leg gettin' out of here."

"Daisy, where're we goin'?" He didn't remember there being a way out down here.

"Over behind the boilers."

"That really ain't a good place t' hide." Did she think that the State Police would just run out of the building without checking the basement rooms first?

She didn't answer, but led them gingerly around stacks of dusty, mildewed records towards the back of the room where the large cast-iron boilers sat, and he finally noticed the ladder.

"This goes up to th' roof. Come on."

He caught her arm and pulled her back to him. Her face was close, pale in the room's sallow light, her eyes large and full of life. He resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. "Daisy...I can't let you do this. You're not thinking straight. There's still time to-"

Her eyes flashed in anger. "To _what_? To let you run back to your cell? _You're_ the one who's not thinkin' straight!" She took a step back from him. "Now, I'm goin' up that ladder and unless you wanna break my arm, you're comin' with me."

"Shucks, Daisy, you know I ain't gonna hurt you."

He looked up the ladder to where it disappeared into the darkness. It was wide, it's rungs relatively close together, and must have been meant as a fire escape at some time in the now forgotten past. Enos' left wrist was bound to Daisy's right one, with a foot of chain between them. He supposed he should be grateful that she'd used the shackles that had been around his ankles and not the hand-cuffs that had been on his wrists.

He sighed. "Well, come on, then."

It was wide enough that they managed to go up together side by side. At the top, they pushed up the trap door and climbed out onto the roof of the building.

The night air hit Enos like a slap in the face. It had been nearly a year since he'd seen the stars, months since the breeze had caressed his skin. Day after day in the confines of the eight foot square cell at Jackson, he had tried to forget how it had felt to be free - to forget the feel of the wind, the warmth of the sun, the smell of the rain.

He breathed deeply. The night air carried with it a thousand smells and sounds, and he knew he must have succeeded in forgetting those things, for nothing had ever felt like this.

Daisy dragged him quickly to the edge of the roof, but he took a step back, the old fear of heights making his head swim as the lights of the town danced in the darkness around them. The neon tubes from the Hazzard Theater marquee cast long shadows across the roof in soft pastel hues.

He scanned the square, expecting at any moment to hear screeching tires as the General Lee skidded into the alley, but everything was still and quiet.

"So... where are they?"

"Where's _who_?" she asked, confused.

"Bo and Luke," he asked, still squinting into the darkness below them. Maybe they were already here, parked somewhere around the corner.

"They're probably sleepin'. I was supposed to close at the Boar's Nest tonight, but I told them not to wait up for me. It's been a long day."

"But..." This wasn't Duke protocol at all. Besides which, Uncle Jesse would never agree to her putting herself in such danger. He stared at her profile in the darkness, reaching the obvious conclusion. "They don't know..."

"Of course they don't know!" she snapped. "I'll explain everything later, but right now we've gotta get off this roof and over to Cooter's."

"Now, hold on just a minute! Cooter knew about this, and he didn't talk you out of it?"

"Enos Strate! I swear, you could be just a little more grateful. Now come on!"

She threw her leg over the side of the building and onto the first rung of the narrow fire escape ladder leading down into the dark alley. The thin, rusted metal groaned under her slight weight and Enos doubted its ability to hold them both. He shot a look behind them, but there was nothing but the empty roof and the stars.

"Sugar, that man ain't gonna sleep forever."

Still, he hesitated. This was wrong - _worse_ than wrong, and he should do whatever he could to get free of Daisy. He knew she had the key, but he saw no way of getting it until they were somewhere relatively safe, and so he decided he would have to bide his time. She couldn't lock him up forever, and the first chance he was free, he would remedy what she'd gone and done. Hopefully if he turned himself in, the GBI wouldn't press charges against her.

The foot-long chain between them stretched to its limit and it cost him precious seconds to finagle a way to climb down without having his arm ripped out of its socket. Holding his arm behind him, they both went down one handed. It seemed to take an hour before his feet hit the ground.

In the alley, Daisy started to run, but Enos pulled her back.

"Just walk," he told her. "You start running and someone's gonna wonder why an' look a little closer. If they find out I'm gone, I reckon we'll know about it soon enough."

"You're right, Enos. I'm sorry, I'm just...I'm not really believin' how well it's all worked out."

Hands clasped together, they strolled slowly across the dark grass of the square, both focused on Cooter's Garage at the far corner, holding their breaths and counting their steps as though they were walking through a mine-field which might sheer their legs off at any moment.

An elderly woman looking out the window of the Hazzard Hotel saw them – two shadows walking slowly hand in hand in the moonlight, and sighed, remembering a day when she had been young and in love herself. Calling the police was the furthest thing from her mind.

At last they reached the garage and ran up the short flight of stairs at the rear of the building that led up to the loft. Daisy had never understood why Cooter would rather stay and live in town. He'd inherited a farm and house when his father had passed, but after one year of sleeping in a real bed and eating at a table, he'd moved back into his tiny loft and rented the house out to a nice family from down in Lexington.

She tried the door. It was unlocked and she pulled Enos inside with her and shut it behind them. In the glow from the street lamp, she could see Cooter, tangled in the bedsheets, surrounded by piles of tires and metal signs declaring that Quaker State "makes engines run smoother" and that Raybestos was the "best in brakes". He snored softly.

She glanced over at Enos. He still looked like he wondered if he were dreaming. It was just as well, she thought. He was probably more apt to go along with her if he thought he was hallucinating.

She shook Cooter's shoulder. "Cooter!"

Nothing.

"Cooter, wake up!"

He groaned and rolled over.

"Oh no you don't!" She pulled the cord that hung down from the bulb in the ceiling. The room looked worse in the harsh light. Smaller, grimier. She yanked the pillow out from under his head.

He thrashed around blindly until he realized there was somebody standing by his bed. He squinted up at Daisy. "I swear, I gotta cut down on them pickled beets," he muttered, and rolled over away from her.

"Cooter Davenport, you wake up this instant!"

He sat up suddenly and looked around, blinking several times. "Daisy-girl, you can't just go sneakin' up on a guy when he's sleepin'! That ain't proper!" He threw off the bedclothes and struggled to his feet, wearing a pair of faded blue and white striped pajama pants. "Looks like your plans got rearranged.'" He thumped Enos on the shoulder, making him flinch at the contact. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes, buddy-roe. I just want you t' know, anything you need, you just holler."

"Well, Cooter, I'd be doin' a lot better if you'd tell me how come you let Daisy do what she did."

"Uh yeah, that." The mechanic looked down and shrugged uncomfortably. "You know that girl, Enos, there ain't no talkin' to her once she sets her mind on somethin'."

"This ain't no laughin' matter, Cooter." Enos took a step menacing towards him, and he threw his hands up in defense.

"Hey now, it was either help her out or let her get caught. You shoulda heard her first plan. It was terrible."

"Cooter!" she objected.

His eyes shifted to their shackled wrists. "Don't seem like you're entirely here of your own free will, Enos. Maybe ya' oughta hear her out sometime."

"Cooter, we need a ride to th' Boar's Nest. Fast, before they notice he's missin'."

"Boar's Nest, huh? Tell you what, you two go on and hunker down in the back of th' truck. I'll throw on somethin' decent and be down in two shakes."

* * *

"Can you see anything?" Daisy asked. There was nothing but the dark sky from her perspective, scrunched on the floorboard behind the tow-truck's bench seat with Enos. It was a tiny area, no larger than a foot and a half deep and the width of the cab of the tow-truck.

"Nope," Cooter answered. "How long ago did you leave?"

"About 18 minutes ago."

Daisy turned to Enos. "How do _you_ know?"

He pointed over her head out the side window. "The marquee at the theater just shut off," he said, quietly. "Andy leaves about one-thirty on nights when there's a late showing. The clock at th' station said twelve after one when we left."

She shook her head. "That's amazing."

Enos shifted nervously and grunted something that sounded like disagreement.

Ignoring his attitude, she dared a peek out the rear window. The square was deserted. That guard must've really been tired to still be sleeping against the wall.

In a few minutes, the lights of town were far behind them and only a soft glow in the sky told of it's existence. The truck bounced over the unpaved roads and Daisy remained silent, the reality and magnitude of what she'd done beginning to overtake the surrealism of it all.

Enos was silent as well, turned away from her, staring up at the sky out the window as though he were waiting for the hand of God to come down and smite him dead for what he'd done. And maybe he would, someday, thought Daisy, but she was pretty sure He was on _their_ side. What else could explain the ease of their escape and getaway?

"I'd best just let you off quick an' get back t' town," said Cooter, "in case the police come pokin' around lookin for you."

The momentum of the truck slowed as he pulled into the parking lot of the Boar's Nest. It was pitch black, the only light being the headlights shining out into the darkness. The last night Daisy had closed, she'd come out after everyone left and had shot out the streetlight. It was a typical prank of a typical teenage country boy and no one had even questioned her about it.

Cooter opened the door and held the seat back for Daisy and Enos to climb out. "You two be careful," he said. "I don't wanna hear about them findin' you."

Daisy threw her arms around him, consequently dragging Enos closer as well. "Thank you, Cooter."

"Yeah, well, you'd best git. Double-quick," he said, giving her an awkward pat on the back.

"I'm much obliged for th' ride, Cooter," said Enos. "Even if I ain't real happy about it, all th' same."

Cooter shook his offered hand solemnly. "Take care, Buddy-roe."

He hopped back into the truck and spun it's wheels as he drove away. Daisy spared no time to watch him go, but led Enos to the door of the bar.

"I didn't want t' take a chance on losing my key, so I put it under a rock." She pulled up a rock to the side of the door and fished out a gold key.

Enos sighed, but said nothing as she unlocked the door and led them in. He started to reach behind him to close the door, but stopped short. She glanced back at him, confused, and pulled it shut herself.

"Fingerprints," he reminded her. The bar was unchanged, and he tried to ignore the feeling of nostalgia it brought him. "Where to?"

She grinned at him. "You'll see."

She grabbed a flashlight from the edge of the bar and led them into the storage room. "I wish I could lock it," she said, shutting the door, "but I never could figure out how t' do it. I 'spose we'll just have t' hope it takes them a while to figure it out. I'm pretty sure if they track us to the Boar's Nest, they'll figure out where we went, though."

"Daisy, I don't have th' slightest idea what you're talkin' about. And what in tarnation are we doin' in th' storage room?"

"You wouldn't know about it 'cause it happened when you were with the LAPD." She grabbed a bag from out of the center of the room but struggled to move it with only one hand. "You know, this'd be a lot easier if you'd help me."

"Oh... sorry." He grabbed the corner of a sack and together they dragged them one by one over to the edge of the wall. "Somethin' smells really bad in here," he said, suddenly. "Smells like somethin' crawled in here an' died."

"It's about t' be worse in a minute," she said. "It's my little plan for keeping any tracking dogs confused. Here, I need you to get down. I've gotta use both hands to pry this up."

"You could just unlock me," he suggested, bending down to her level, "I reckon that'd make it a whole lot easier."

"I didn't go t' all this trouble just to let you run off." She shined the flashlight at his face, and he squinted and grimaced. "Don't think I don't know what you're doin'," she said. "You only came with me 'cause you didn't want me t' get caught. I love ya', Sugar, but right now, I trust you about as far as I can throw you, and that ain't very far."

The corner of the trap door popped up and she caught it deftly with the ease of much practice, then pulled away the trap door and shined the flashlight down into the dark hole.

"Huh uh," he said. "I ain't goin' down there."

"Enos, you've spent eight months in a prison cell, don't start with that. Besides, it ain't nearly as bad at th' bottom as it's about to be up here."

"What's that supposed t' mean?"

She stepped over to one of the shelves and knocked a pan off onto the floor. It landed with a metallic clang, but the sound wasn't the part that startled Enos, it was the smell.

Sweet and cloying – the smell of spoil and filth and rotten flesh. It smelled of death...like the room he'd woken up in at Augusta State Medical Prison, strapped to a bed with the smell of death floating in the air.

He threw up.

"Enos!"

Daisy put her arm around his shoulders, but he shook her off and retched again.

"Enos, I'm so sorry! I didn't know-"

"Let's just...go," he said, in a strangled whisper. "Dang it, Daisy... just... -" He threw up again . "jus' go!"

They went down the ladder the same way they had gone down the edge of the Police Station, Enos pulling the trapdoor back in place above them. Throwing up had sapped the last of the strength that adrenalin had afforded him. His foot slipped twice on the way down and he threaded his arm around the ladder, hanging on for dear life and counted each step as they plunged deeper into the Stygian darkness.

The air at the bottom was cool, and his thin prison uniform and slippers were unsuited to anything beyond languishing in a prison cell, besides which he'd lost nearly thirty pounds off his six-foot frame that he hadn't needed to lose. He shivered.

The beams of Daisy's flashlight played weakly over the clutter of barrels and boxes. He nearly ran her over when she stopped and knelt down. A moment later, a bright warm glow shone from the lantern she'd lit, and he saw that they were in a tunnel, probably where Mr. Hogg used to hide his moonshine at one time.

"Here, Sugar, take a drink." She handed him a canteen, then grabbed a backpack from beside the lantern and hoisted it onto her left shoulder. "There's clothes in there, but we probably oughta get into the mines first before we change. Put some good distance between us and whoever comes lookin' for us." It was then that Enos noticed his own well worn pack sitting against the wall.

Until that moment, he had thought that Daisy's break-out had been a spur of the moment thing between herself and Cooter. Now, seeing his own pack fully outfitted as he would carry it on a long camping trip, he began to wonder.

"Daisy...how long...how long have you been plannin' all this?"

"Since th' day I visited you at Jackson."

"But that was... weeks ago."

"I've been busy." She picked up his pack and held it out to him.

He took it from her and slipped it over his right shoulder, his other arm being tied to hers.

It was heavy.

What would have once felt like nothing, something he wouldn't have given a thought to carrying across acres of bush and slogging through swamps with, now felt twice it's normal weight. And he knew it wasn't the pack...it was _him_. He turned away to hide his grimace of pain. He couldn't tell her that it was too heavy for him to carry – he had at least that much pride left.

"Come on, Sugar. It ain't far." She picked up a folded paper that had been sitting beside the lantern and shoved it into her pocket. "I never got a chance t' go all th' way, but I followed the trail about halfway one night after I shut th' Boar's Nest down and left some extra Kerosene and water there. I've got the rest memorized, though."

"Got what memorized?"

She grinned. "Th' way out."

He followed her through a hole which someone had beaten into a cinder block wall, and stepped out into a tunnel so large the could have driven a truck through it. The lantern light played off of a ceiling at least ten feet high, studded with railroad ties at intervals. His foot hit something hard and he looked down. There were narrow tracks leading off into the distance both behind and before them.

"Gol_ly_, Daisy, we're in a mine shaft!"

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it, either. Pretty good luck, huh?"

He glanced around uneasily. "If you say so. People've died down here, wandering around lost for days."

"Enos, you don't actually believe those old stories, do ya? 'Sides, they didn't have th' map, and I do." She pulled the paper out of her pocket.

"Let me see that."

She almost handed it to him, and then thought better of it. Enos was great with maps, and had a memory like a steel trap. It would be better to keep him "in the dark", so to speak, if she could help it.

"No." She stuffed it back in her pocket.

For once, he had nothing to say, and she knew he understood.

For the next hour, she led them through a maze of dark twists and turns, and Enos eventually gave up trying to remember the way back. In fact, they had gone so far, he was beginning to worry that she was leading them around in circles. He kept his fears to himself. If they were lost, they were lost, and his most pressing concern at the moment was putting one foot in front of the other. He closed his eyes, letting her lead him blindly along the tunnel.

He could never say for sure what happened - whether his legs had just finally given out or it he'd actually fallen asleep while he was walking. Whatever had happened, he opened his eyes just in time to see the ground coming at him. He threw out his hands in a half-hearted attempt to catch himself, and managed to pull Daisy down with him as well.

"Enos!" She scrambled over to where he lay. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Just tripped. I'm sorry, Daisy, I didn't mean t' pull ya' down. Are you okay?"

She shook her head, dismissing his concern. "I'm fine. We can rest for a while..."

"No! We're too close to th' Boar's Nest. It's best t' just keep goin'. They might get wise and check the mines in the vicinity."

He tried to stand up, but found he didn't have enough strength in his legs to do so. He shrugged off the backpack and rested for a minute on his knees, his head against the ground. He closed his eyes and listened to the blood rushing in his ears.

"Enos..."

"How much further is it?"

"We're probably about a third of th' way."

He let out a deep groan and slowly got to his feet. "You said there were some clothes in there?" He pointed at the backpack, still laying on the ground.

"Yeah...yeah, uh..."

His eyes followed hers to the chain between them. "Oh, come on!" he complained. "I ain't gonna run off in the middle of a dark mine shaft! Unlock me... Please?"

Her eyes met his. "You''d better promise," she said. "You ain't never lied to me, Enos, and I don't expect you t' start now."

"I promise, Daisy, I'm not gonna run off."

She stared at him a little longer before pulling the key out from around her neck and unlocking their shackles. Just ahead, the trail split off into two separate paths. "Let's go on up there," she said, "I'll set th' lantern in the middle and you can take the right side and I'll take the left."

He nodded. "Deal." He hefted the backpack back once again onto his shoulder and followed her up to where the trail split.

She sat the lantern in the larger tunnel so that it's light shown into both sides of of the fork, but made no move to go as he took the tunnel to the right and sat his pack down.

"I think I can handle gettin' myself dressed," he grumbled.

"Oh!" She startled, realizing that she'd been watching him. "Sorry...I guess I'm pretty tired myself. Uh...there's a...a belt in there. If you need it."

"Okay. I'll find it."

Daisy took her own pack into the left tunnel and hastily stripped off the Deputy's uniform, but removed the badge and put it and the skirt back into her pack before wadding the shirt up and sticking it in a crevice between the rocks. She was tying her boots - proper hiking boots that she'd been breaking in over the last several weeks, when he called out softly to her.

"Hey, Daisy? Are you decent?"

"Yeah," she laughed, "Come on over."

He walked around the corner and Daisy forgot about her boots. For a moment, she could only stare at him, and then her breath hitched in a sob and she looked away, not wanting him to see her cry. The last of the wall between dreams and reality crumbled at the sight of him dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt. He was no specter or product of her imagination - he was real.

"Daisy, don't..." The last thing he wanted was her pity. "I'm sorry."

She wiped her eyes on the cuff of her sleeve and shook her head. "They're happy tears, Enos...I've missed you." As much as she wanted to rush over and hug him, she held back. The last thing she wanted to do was spook him with being too forward, and she wanted to give him time to get readjusted to freedom first. They had all the time in the world because she wasn't going anywhere without him. After a moment, she stood up and retrieved her pack and picked up the shackles.

He said nothing, but shrugged his pack over both shoulders then held out his wrist to her, which she dutifully bound again to her own.

The journey was much more pleasant with real clothes on, he decided. It was the first time he'd worn anything but a prison uniform since his trial in September, and he'd grown so used to the scratchy fabric that everything else felt abnormally soft and...well..._cozy_. The hard part was the shoes. The prison doled out cheap slippers like candy, but he hadn't worn real shoes since his incarceration. Though Daisy had thoughtfully packed his already worn-in field boots, his feet had lost their calluses and he could feel where the blisters would be forming sooner than later.

They walked side by side in silence for a long time, taking turns carrying the lantern, with Daisy occasionally referring to the map she wouldn't let him see.

At last, after what felt to him like several hours, there was a change in the air - it was fresher, and he sensed that they were moving up hill.

"We must be getting close to an exit," he said.

Daisy, who was looking at the map, nodded. "We are. There's one around the next corner, but it's not ours. We're still on the Hazzard County side of the Ridge. We'll turn to the left up here about a quarter mile."

"We're goin' under th' Ridge?"

She frowned, realizing that she'd inadvertently told him where they were going. "I'm not sure how far-" She stopped, and put her hand on his arm.

Enos had felt it too, a deep, throbbing vibration that seemed to compress the air around them.

"Is...is it an earthquake?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No," he whispered, trying to figure it out himself. "It's regular. Listen." He tapped it out with his finger in the air. Thump...thump...thump... "Machinery maybe? I don't -" Their eyes met. "Helicopter!"


	36. The Morning After

_A/N: Please forgive the GBI Director's foul language. He scowled at me when I tried to change it.  
_

* * *

_"Into the trees, past meadow grounds,_  
_ and further away from my home;_  
_ Baying behind me, I hear the hounds -_  
_ flock's chasing to find me alone..."_  
-Opeth, Harlequin Forest

* * *

At ten minutes after two in the morning, the report of a missing prisoner was called into the Georgia Department of Corrections from a little town in Northeast Georgia. Fifteen minutes later (after Cooter Davenport had sprayed the steps to his loft and adjoining sidewalk with bleach) a Tactical Squad and Correctional Emergency Response Team was dispatched to the area under the supervision of GBI's Regional Director, Special Agent Jack Warren. By 3:30 am, Hazzard Square had lit up like a Christmas tree.

The senior members of the GBI's Atlanta field office, including Special Agents Robert WIlburn and Tim Stewart had set up their base of operations in the booking station of the Hazzard County Sheriff's Department, the bulletin board behind them re-purposed for tracking down Death Row inmate, former Hazzard County Deputy Benjamin Strate. A current photograph of him, from his intake at Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison in Jackson, as well as an enlarged head-shot from his Driver's License, were tacked to the board.

Jack Warren was a no-nonsense guy. A hard-nosed cop who had grown up in the hard-knock community of College Park in the suburbs of Atlanta, he had little sympathy for criminals and even less for rotten ex-cops. He scanned over the information they had concerning the fugitive.

"Dammit, Bob, why in God's name didn't they take him back to Jackson after sentencing? Lazy-as$ son's of b*tches! Isn't this the town you and Tim had such a hard time finding someone to say anything against him?"

"He's pretty popular with the locals, Jack," said Agent Wilburn.

"Alright, well, let's review what we've got going right now."

Agent Wilburn ticked off their investigation thus far. "The cell keys were found in the cell beside the bunk along with a set of hand-cuffs," he said. "No sign of the shackles, yet. The gun in the adjacent cell was empty. We printed it and found both Mr. Strate and Deputy Duke's on it, it was registered to the Sheriff, Rosco Purvis Coltrane."

"Speaking of him... Tim, have you heard from the guys down in Greene County, yet?"

Agent Tim Steward laid a piece of paper with hand-scribbled notes down on the desk. "I just got off the phone with Sheriff Yates. Apparently it's all on the up and up with Sheriff Coltrane being at Lake Oconee. He checked in yesterday evening, but his sister, brother in law, and Deputy Hogg all checked in at their hotel early Thursday morning. He said there was no one qualified to work except for Daisy Duke. That checks out, too, she spent some time about five years ago as a Deputy and records show that she was re-hired in February. Doesn't sound like there's too much love lost between him and any of the Duke family, though. I don't think he'd protect her."

"Wasn't she Strate's girlfriend?"

"You ain't gotta lot of choices around here, I suppose," said Stewart, "He said he wasn't worried about putting her on since all the State guys were around, but we're pretty sure she was the one who sprung him. We've got an APB out on her vehicle; a white, 1980, Jeep CJ-7."

"What about Strate's family?"

Agent Wilburn shook his head. "Just his mother, and she wouldn't care if he rotted in prison, just so nobody took her TV and cigarettes. The State Police have a chopper doing some preliminary fly-overs. Hopefully they'll pick up on something now that it's getting light outside, but if starts raining, we may have to call them in."

"Has anyone gone out to the girl's place, yet?"

"We were just about to head out," said Agent Wilburn.

Jack handed them a copy of the search warrant. "Take some officers with you, just in case."

* * *

The sound became louder, closer, and Enos grabbed Daisy's hand and fled with her down the mine. She caught up and led the way, past a tunnel where the weak light of early morning filtered in from an entrance to the mine. Then the shaft began to tilt downward again, going deeper underground until finally they could no longer feel the vibration from the helicopter.

They stopped to catch their breath.

"You think they came in?" she asked.

"Probably not, but we'd better keep going. Most likely they're just scouting with the helicopter. What time is it?"

Daisy glanced at her watch. "Just after five."

"It's still too dark for them to see much. Daisy, be straight with me...how far away are we gonna be once we get out?"

"We'll come out up at Black Snake Quarry, by Lake Choocha-Cooble. There's a truck there."

He looked surprised. "A truck? Daisy, please tell me it ain't Uncle Jesse's."

"No," she assured him, "nothing I'm doing goes back to Bo, Luke, or Uncle Jesse."

"Then who's is it?"

She bit her lip and looked away from him. "Look, Enos, there's...there's people that I promised wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't be implicated if we got caught?"

"I...I'm sorry... Enos, wait - "

He started to walk away from her, but forgot she was connected to him. His flight arrested, he opted for fight instead. "I know how t' keep my mouth shut, Daisy. Dont'cha think maybe it's my business?"

"Please, Sugar, just let it go."

"Fine," he said. "Come on. We ain't gettin' anywhere standing around in one spot."

* * *

The sun had not yet risen when the black sedan of Agents Wilburn and Stewart and two State Police squad cars pulled up in front of the Duke farmhouse. The yard was bathed in the quiet, uniform grayness of early morning, and a light rain was beginning to fall as the two GBI agents walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door. Three State troopers fell in behind them.

Uncle Jesse had just woken and was already dressed when he heard the knock. He went to the kitchen and glanced out the window, alarmed at what he saw.

"Bo, Luke, Daisy," he shouted, "y'all better get up. We've got company." He opened the door.

"Morning, Mr. Duke," said Agent Stewart, "May I come in?"

Jesse looked past him to the troopers and the older Agent who he didn't recognize. "Uh...sure. Come on in." He held the door open for them. "Is there somethin' I can help you with, Agent Stewart? Can I get y'all some coffee?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Mr. Duke, have you seen your niece this morning?"

"Well, now, I just woke up. She worked late, I reckon she's still in bed."

"If you don't mind, I need you to wake her up. There's some questions I need to ask her."

Jesse nodded. "I'll go check on her." He walked back through the kitchen and living room and stopped outside her room, a host of misgivings tugging at him. He knocked softly on the door. "Daisy? Daisy, honey?"

He waited a moment, but there was no answer. He turned the knob and opened her door a crack, and then all the way. Her bed was made, not slept in. Daisy wasn't here and the GBI and State police wanted to speak to her? He leaned heavily upon the door-frame, breaking out in a cold sweat, and knowing that something was very wrong.

"What's this all about, Uncle Jesse?" asked Bo. He and Luke stood in the middle of the living room, trading suspicious stares with the State Troopers.

Agent Stewart stepped into the doorway of Daisy's room. "Mr. Duke, we have a warrant to search the premises. I'm going to ask you and your nephews to go into the kitchen and wait for us there if you would."

Uncle Jesse turned towards him. "What's she done?" he asked, quietly.

"We believe she's harboring a fugitive, sir."

* * *

Two hours later, Daisy and Enos stood at the exit to the mine, looking out on a gray, overcast day. It had rained sometime earlier, the ground was wet with standing puddles, but it was doing nothing now. Still, Enos was reluctant to leave the safety of the mines until it was closer to dusk when the State Patrol would have to bring their choppers in for the day.

"It's just too dangerous," he told Daisy, "even if they aren't looking this far north yet, there's a chance someone might be. If they're flying low enough, they'd still see us. And I reckon we're both tired. It just makes sense to stay here for now and try to sleep if we can."

Daisy, who had put on a brave face for the last hour, was exhausted and knew Enos must be as well. "I think you're right. We can back-track far enough to keep safe and use the lantern if we need it."

And so it was settled. They retraced their steps for ten minutes and made camp in the old mine. Daisy shared out the beef-jerky she'd stuffed in her pack and, helping each other, they unrolled her makeshift sleeping bags.

The chain between them meant Enos couldn't take his own bedroll and disappear somewhere away from her in the shadows. He'd been obliged to arrange his beside hers, though he left a good two feet of space between them. Daisy placed the lantern a few feet beyond them and turned it down to where there was enough light to see and scare away any creepy crawlies, but it would save fuel for the return trip out to the quarry.

They lay on their sides, facing each other, their hands stretched across the distance between them, but not touching. She smiled sleepily at him.

"I'm sorry, Sugar. I know you ain't happy about me breakin' you out...but...I had to." The last few words tumbled out softly as she closed her eyes, "I've missed you..." She was asleep before he could even answer her.

He watched her body rise and fall with her breathing, and tried to turn his thoughts back to planning how to get away from her instead of how incredibly beautiful she looked. Ever since she'd changed clothes, his exhausted mind had been taking off on daydreamy tangents. Of all the clothes she could have brought, why did she have to wear his blue flannel shirt?

After he'd lost his trial, he'd given up trying to keep her out of his head. His fantasies of her had been the only reprieve from his ongoing and never ending Hell, and he'd spent a great many hours dreaming up how to get her _out_ of that shirt...

He groaned and rubbed his weary eyes. He needed to try and get the key. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail and he could see a piece of the blue ribbon showing above her collar. If he could manage to pull it out and unlock himself, he was close enough to the quarry that he could make it there with just her flashlight.

When he was sure that she must be deeply asleep, he scooted closer to her, propping himself up on one elbow. With his right hand, he took hold of the ribbon and pulled it slowly from beneath her shirt. It was nearly out when it caught on something. He tugged a little harder, and the key slipped out from around her neck – along with a gold chain it had been tangled with. His hand stopped, frozen in place, for on the chain hung their wedding rings.

Their gold shone richly in the dim light from the lantern. Dumbfounded, Enos dropped the ribbon and backed away from her.

The day she'd given her ring back to him was forever etched in his memory. _"For safe keeping,_" she'd said. He had asked her no questions, just acted like he believed her lie. It had confirmed all his suspicions – that she'd only wanted to marry him to spare him from going to jail, and then to spare herself from the embarrassment of having to admit as much to him.

When he'd kissed her in the courtroom, he had imagined that she'd felt something for him. But afterwards, in the long, lonely months in stir, he became convinced that the love in her eyes had been only his mind playing tricks on him.

He thought that she'd rescued him out of pity...but...

Her words in the storage room of the Boar's Nest came back to him. There had been no time to think about them then; she'd opened up a hole in the floor, and he'd gotten sick and what she'd said had been filed away to think on later. Yet it was not the words themselves, but how she'd said it - so _easily_, as though she'd told him she loved him a thousand times before.

_"She cares about you a lot more than you think she does,_" Rosco had told him.

Enos thought back over all the visits and all the time she'd spent on him over many months; bringing him pictures, reading the paper, just talking - anything she could think of to make him feel better. Gary said that she'd visited every prison in the state searching for him after he'd left Fulton and that she'd never given up hope of finding him alive somewhere. (He hadn't known that everyone thought he was dead.)

Then there was this escape, which was no half-ditch effort. He knew she'd spent every waking moment planning it for the last several weeks. She wasn't stupid. She had to know what she would be giving up. But... for _what_?

He prayed to God that it wasn't for _him_. None of what she had given up was worth his freedom, and if she was operating under the mistaken belief that it was, it made his plan of getting away from her and turning himself in even harder. It meant that he would have to change her mind first - to make her see that he wasn't worth saving so that she would never attempt it again.

He'd have to make her hate him. It was the best protection he could offer.


	37. Through the Hills

_A/N: Whenever possible, all the information about roads and various towns and landmarks has been taken from actual sources. I've started an interactive Google map where you can see the waypoints that relate to the story which you can find a link to on my profile. I hope to keep it updated regularly.  
_

* * *

_Just close your eyes - the sun is going down._  
_ You'll be alright - no one can hurt you now._  
_ Come morning light - you and I'll be safe and sound._  
-The Civil Wars & Taylor Swift

* * *

Daisy woke around noon, long enough to check her watch and tuck the chain with their rings back inside her shirt, grateful that Enos was still sleeping and hadn't seen them.

The next time she woke it was shortly after three. Enos was watching her, his hazel eyes deep and thoughtful in the amber glow from the lantern.

"Hey," she said, softly.

"If you're still set on doin' this, I reckon we'd better git."

She sat up and arched her stiff back, wincing as it popped, and then rubbed her shackled wrist where an angry red line now encircled it.

"Hurts, don't it?" He cringed to hear such harsh words come out of his own mouth, but Daisy brushed them off.

"Don't be so grouchy," she scolded.

"Daisy, this ain't a game. You can't just play Harry Houdini and then expect to go on back home someday like nothin' ever happened."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Is_ that_ what this is all about? Don't worry, Sugar, I know what I've done."

"It was dang foolish. I don't reckon you'd listen to me if I said you oughta let me turn myself in."

"Not a chance, Enos." She strapped her bedroll to her pack and threw it over her shoulder. "And if you think you're gonna make me change my mind by bein' a grump, you can just save your energy. Come on."

* * *

By the time they reached the quarry again the sun had dried the rain from earlier that morning, but the air was thick with humidity. There were no helicopters in sight, although they listened intently for several minutes before leaving the cover of the mines.

"I don't know where the truck is supposed to be or what it looks like," she said, "so keep your eyes out."

They found it parked just down the trail from the mine, in a grove of Persimmon trees. It was an older model F-150, off-white, it's fenders eaten with rust. Half of the bed was covered by a heavy canvas tarp. Enos peeked under it.

"Possum on a gum-bush, Daisy! It's bad enough you're totin' around a wanted fugitive."

"What d'you mean?"

He untied a corner of the tarp and flipped it back. Underneath it were eight crates, lined with insulation, each containing four one-gallon glass bottles of clear liquid.

Daisy looked down and the crates and then back up at him. "I didn't know she-" She bit her lip.

Enos flipped the corner back down and retied it. "I know who's truck it is," he said. "You shoulda left her out of this mess."

"I couldn't've done it without her help."

He turned around and leaned up against the truck, his eyes closed, his lips drawn in an angry line.

_He's closing off_, she thought._ Trying to shut me out. _

It had always been his first line of defense to anything unpleasant. He'd slammed a lot of doors in her face over the years, both literal and figurative, usually in the pretext of trying to protect her from himself. She expected it now, and in fact she was surprised he hadn't been more forceful the day before.

_Trust._

In the old days, trust had been the concrete which had held them together, but much of what had once existed between them had been destroyed, and not just by her. There was enough blame to share for all their misunderstandings. If they were to do this together, the trust was the first thing that would have to be fixed.

His eyes were still closed when she took the silver key from around her neck and unlocked the shackles that bound the two of them together. His eyes shot open as they fell to the ground.

"Look around you," she insisted. "This is _real_. There's no concrete or metal bars or plexi-glas windows anymore. Enos, look up."

"Daisy..."

"Just do it."

Enos raised his head and rested it back against the window of the truck. The wind blew through the trees with a sound like a rushing stream as it shook the leaves, waving them back and forth in a violent, gyrating dance.

"Don't think about yesterday, and don't worry about tomorrow, Enos. Right now...you're_ free_."

He blinked rapidly and she caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes before they closed again.

"I know you don't want to remember what it feels like," she said, softly, "because you think it won't last. And I can't promise you that we won't get caught or tell you what's gonna happen next. All I'm asking is for you to just...just come with me to McCaysville. Somewhere safe for a while and think about it. That's all."

When Enos was relatively sure he'd gotten a handle on his emotions, he looked back down at Daisy, surprised at the tears running down her cheeks.

"Daisy...I... I can't protect you out here."

She smiled at him through her tears. "No, not this time. This time, it's my job to protect _you_."

He looked back up at the trees, away from the hope shining in her eyes. To play along with her and then leave her when she least expected it would be cruel, but if it kept her out of harm's way, it would be worth it in the end. More than anything, they needed to get out of the area quickly, and they didn't have time to fight about it here.

He took a deep breath. "So where're we goin'?"

* * *

Daisy slammed the truck door and reached across Enos to open the glove compartment. Inside, there was a note with a key taped to it, and a map.

She tore the key off the paper and stuck it into the ignition, then read the note.

_West on Hwy 68 (Ocoee Street), through Copperhill,TN, follow the curve past the railyard. Turn left at the X and follow the trail back around to the parking lot. Just go, Matt will find you. Keep safe. -A_

Copperhill, Tennessee, adjoined McCaysville, Georgia, about forty miles west of Hazzard on the border between the two states. Daisy had looked up the route after visiting with Amy, but most of the area was dense forest and hill country. In the Blue Ridge Mountains, the knowledge of local dirt roads was passed on through the generations by word of mouth and by running shine, and most of them didn't make it into the official maps.

She'd never been good at navigation. That was Enos' gift.

Daisy passed Enos the map, which he examined. "We're gonna have to stay off all the main highways," he said. "They'll have those shut up tighter than Fort Knox, even if they still think we're in Hazzard County."

"I was hopin' you knew a shortcut," she said.

He studied her from over the edge of the map for a moment before looking back down. "I know a way up past the border, but it ain't a short-cut," he said. "My dad used to take the back-roads up to Knoxville when the Feds were crackin' down." He scooted across the cab to where Daisy could see the map and traced out a route through what looked like an unnavigable forest. "There's an old road up through here, around Tate City, that follows the Appalachian Trail a ways and then cuts back up to Highway 64 in North Carolina."

"You know it well enough to get us there?"

"Maybe," he said, "if it ain't washed out."

"Can you drive?"

He grinned at her – the first trace of genuine happiness on his face she'd seen. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Daisy had never fully realized the blessing of a paved road before that day. What should have taken them at the most an hour and a half was stretching into evening by the time they finally made it across the North Carolina border north of the tiny unincorporated burg of Tate City. Here, Enos veered off onto a dirt road. It started off promising, as wide as the paved road they had left and laid with gravel, but it quickly dissolved into a twisting cattle-trail broken by so many creek beds that Daisy began to fear for the truck's axles. As the sun sank lower in the sky, dipping beneath the tops of the pines, they finally came to a washout that was too deep for them to cross.

"Ding-dang it!" he cursed, "I'm sorry, Daisy. I shoulda turned back there at that last fork. It's been a long time since I've been through here."

She wanted to ask him when in the world he'd had the bad luck to be here the _first_ time, but she was afraid it might launch him into another fishing tangent. He'd already spent the first hour recounting the story of every fish he'd ever caught from the ponds they'd passed, and she wasn't sure if she could take another one. When he was nervous, Enos rambled, and from the way he'd been talking non-stop since they'd left the quarry, he'd never been so nervous in all his life.

"It's all right, sugar, we've still got plenty of daylight left."

"Believe it or not, it's only about two miles that-a-way." He pointed north-west, through a field of hay and the forest beyond it.

"What's two miles?"

"The main road. I've just gotta remember how to get to it."

He backed up and turned the pickup around and traced their route back to where a second trail branched off from the first. It was even more desolate - no more than two lines in the dirt weaving through the grass, and Daisy began to worry that they would come across someone's still, wandering around out in the middle of nowhere.

"You don't think anyone sets up out here, do ya'?"

"I don't know, Daisy," he admitted. "I reckon if someone starts shootin' at us, I'll drive faster."

"That's not makin' me feel better."

A mile and a half down the road, the truck slowed to a crawl and stopped at the edge of another washout.

"Say, Daisy, you didn't happen t' bring any money with ya', did you?"

"Some. Why?"

"Cause we're gonna have t' pay for all the 'shine we're about to break. You'd better put your seatbelt on."

He threw the truck into reverse far enough to get a running start at the washout and then took off. He drove into it at an angle and Daisy felt her stomach lurch as the seat fell out from underneath her. Then they were climbing up the other side of the ditch, slamming her back against the padding as the scenery bounced crazily outside the window. For a sickening moment, the engine whined and the tires spun on the top ledge of dirt before they caught and pulled the truck back up onto solid ground.

Then they were past it and just ahead, asphalt gleamed in the last of the evening sun. Enos let the truck coast to a stop.

"Enos, you did it!" Forgetting her plan to give him space, she slid across the seat and hugged him. She felt him stiffen at her touch and let him go.

"We ain't there, yet, Daisy. If they have the side roads blocked off, this is gonna be a mighty short trip. Hand me th' map, would ya'?"

He studied it, then raised his head and stared out the windshield. His finger moved in front of him, tracing an unseen route in the air, and he whispered something quietly to himself that Daisy couldn't understand. At last, he nodded, refolded the map and handed it back to her.

"Staying off the highways means we're gonna have to wander through Hayesville's back-roads," he said, "an' I'm afraid I don't know th' town real well. I've fished up here before, but I didn't go nowhere else but th' Texaco to get gas."

"It can't be _that_ hard," she said, "it's not like it's Atlanta."

They took Old Highway 64 up into the main part of town. Hayesville was small, but crowded this time of the year, with tourists flocking to fish the waters of Chatuge Lake. Bypassing the newer highway, they turned left down a road they hoped would lead them around the lake, only to find themselves circling back around to Highway 64.

By the third road, night was falling and Enos was getting visibly frustrated. "I ain't never seen such squirrelly roads in all my life," he said, disgusted. Their fourth road had just doubled back on itself and opened up at Highway 64 as well. "Ain't there any roads that lead anywhere else?"

"Are you sure the highway isn't safe to drive on? It's gettin' dark now and they're probably still huntin' for Dixie, not a truck."

He drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. "Where'd you hide it?" he asked, suddenly. "Your Jeep?"

"At the bottom of Stillson Canyon."

He turned to her, confused. "There's a lake at the..."

Their eyes met, hers daring him silently to tell her anything but that she'd had a good idea. He said nothing and turned away, put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the black-top two lane. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "If we get pulled over, don't wait for me. You just run." He glanced over at her. "Understand?"

She nodded solemnly.

Being on the highway made Daisy paranoid and jumpy. In her imagination, every white car that they passed was a cop and every car that pulled in behind them was an unmarked Police car. Her hands began to sweat and she rubbed them against her jeans.

"We're almost out of town," he said, noticing her behavior.

Just past the lake, Enos turned off of the highway. "The map shows this road going pretty much all the way there," he said. "You sure someone's gonna be waiting for us this late?"

"I don't know. Amy said the guy runs kind of an underground railroad for bootleggers that the Feds are after. I guess he knows his stuff. Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention to what she said after she gave me the map of the mines."

Enos had heard stories of such things when he was younger, of a system of safe-houses scattered around the country, harboring bootleggers and fugitives, much like in the days before the Civil War when the underground railroad shuttled escaped slaves through the south to the free states in the North. When he was little, he would listen to the stories with enraptured awe, the romanticism of it all capturing his imagination, and there were times when his mother had become so overbearing that he'd dreamed of running away. But he never had. He loved his father and could never bring himself to leave him like that...or Daisy, for that matter.

The romanticism of striking out on his own had died with a kid named Donny Knapp.

Donny had been two grades ahead of Enos in school, one of those kids who was nothing special, really, not a jerk or a trouble-maker, and not at the top of his class, either. Like Enos and half of the other kids at Hazzard High, Donny's family was from the hills. His father was a committed alcoholic and his mother seemed to have a new baby every year like clockwork.

One day, when Enos was a Sophomore, a rumor spread through the school that Donny had run away. He remembered how the older kids had whispered almost reverently amongst themselves over how brave he was and how jealous they were that he'd gotten out of town. For the rest of that year, Donny was special. He was the King of the Road, seeking fame and fortune in the big cities. Speculation abounded amongst the older boys over what he was doing, and how much money he'd made, and how many exotic girls he'd slept with.

It ended a year and a half later when Donny came home, looking like he was pushing fifty instead of nineteen, with half his teeth missing and drunk out of his mind. Whatever had happened to Donny, it had killed any wish Enos had ever had to run away.

And now, here he was with Daisy, doing exactly that. He thought he could face anything that fate brought him...but not seeing her suffer. Though the shackles and hand-cuffs were gone, he was still powerless to protect her, and even worse was the knowledge that it was from his very presence that the danger stemmed.

His mind focused on these things as he drove through the foothills of southern North Carolina and finally into South-eastern Tennessee, skirting the highways as much as he could and listening to the crackle of quiet static on the CB radio.

"Which road did the note say?" he asked. Neither of them had spoken in over an hour.

Daisy, who had been dozing with her face against the cool glass of the passenger's side window, startled and sat up, disoriented.

"Sorry, Daisy. I didn't realize you were sleepin'."

She ran her hands through her hair, brushing it away from her face. "That's okay, I didn't mean to. What did you say?"

"The note," he repeated, "which road did it say to take when we get to Copperhill?"

She fumbled in her pack for her flashlight. The harsh white light filled the truck's cab as she reread the note. "Uh...Highway 68...Ocoee Street, I guess."

"Look on the map and see if Airport Road intersects it."

"It ends at Highway 60...wait, no, 60 turns into 68, so yeah, that would work."

"Okay, I'll just keep goin' then. What time is it?"

She shined the light over her watch. "Eight-fifteen."

"Not as late as I thought it was. At least it's dark now, I just hope no one gives us any trouble going through town."

No one did. In the dark, the truck was unremarkable and they had heard nothing over the CB to suggest that law-enforcement was looking for anything but a white CJ-7.

They drove slowly through town, and it was Daisy who spotted the train-yard off to the left. It's size was impressive considering the sister towns of McCaysville and Copperhill were barely bigger than Hazzard. There seemed to be close to a dozen tracks with lines of boxcars stopped at least two deep, but she couldn't see behind them. The highway curved to the North and half a mile down the road, they spotted the large, white "X" painted on the asphalt where a trail took off to their left.

"I guess this is it," she said, as he turned the truck, "doesn't look like much."

A quarter mile down, the trail crossed the tracks and swung sharply to their left where it ended in a small gravel lot. Enos pulled off to the side and parked. In front of them, a truck flashed it's lights twice in the darkness. Daisy's hands shook as she flipped the switch on and off on the flashlight, answering the signal.

"What're you doin'!.?" hissed Enos, batting the light down, away from the windshield. "For all you know, those could be cops stakin' us out!"

As much as she wanted to tell him not to be so paranoid, she knew he was right. Even though she was fairly sure that the GBI had no idea where they were, they would have to watch themselves and double check everything from now on.

"Sorry, Enos, I didn't think about it."

He sighed deeply. "Well, I reckon we oughta see who's out here." He pulled the lever to open the door, but stopped and turned back to her. "You let me go first, you hear?"

She nodded. "All right," she agreed, but opened her door at the same time as Enos and climbed out anyway.

The driver's side door of the other truck opened and in the glow from it's dome light, Daisy saw a younger man with wavy blond hair get out and turn on a flashlight before he shut the door and disappeared behind the light. He shined it in their general direction, and she heard the crunch of footsteps on rocks. She flipped her own light back on as well and moved up to stand beside Enos.

"I told you t' stay put!" he whispered.

"You really thought I would?"

He seemed to consider it for a moment. "You're th' stubbornest person I've ever known."

"I know one worse."

"Wouldja hush, anyway? And let me do th' talkin'."

A voice called out from behind the light. "Daisy? That you?"

"Who's askin'?" she answered.

"Matt . I'm uh...Amy said I was 'sposed to meet you here."

Daisy smiled and elbowed Enos. "See," she said, softly, "I told you it was okay."

"Matt," said Enos, "I think we're th' ones you're lookin' for."

The footsteps came closer and the man stepped into the circle of light from Daisy's flashlight. He was young, maybe twenty-five at the most, and his blue eyes sparkled as he grinned at them. He held out his hand to Enos who shook it.

"Boy, I sure am glad t' see you two," he said. "I thought you might have a rough time of it, goin' cross-country an' all. Y'all have th' cops running in every direction but straight up."

"They aren't on to us, are they?" she asked him, thinking absently that he looked a little like Bo.

Matt shook his head and laughed. "Hell no. They can't seem t' make hide nor hair out of what happened to you two. It's a good thing you didn't wait it out any longer, though. They had pictures of you both up on the evening news." He leaned back and took a long look at Enos. "You sure don't look like a dangerous criminal."

Enos, who felt vaguely unsettled by this cheeky, lighthearted character, frowned and said in all seriousness; "They say I killed a man, you know."

Matt, who had heard most of the story from Amy during a bootlegging run up to Chattanooga the week before, snorted in disbelief. "Sure ya' did," he said, "an' I've got some nice farmland t' sell you, just up those mountains a-ways." He nodded towards Amy's truck. "If y'all want t' grab your stuff, I'll take you on back to the house. Pop's waitin' for you and then I've gotta get this 'shine on down to Huntsville tonight."

Daisy glanced up at Enos. "Uh...Matt, we might owe you for some broken bottles. We had t' go through a ditch or two."

Matt circled around her and untied the tarp, shining his light underneath. "Yeah, looks like one's busted," he said, retying the tarp. He shrugged, unconcerned. "That's okay, don't worry about it. The profit on this load is all mine for helpin' Amy out, so it's not like I lost anything I was countin' on." He patted the side of the truck and started back to his truck. "Y'all grab your stuff and come on. It's a quiet town, but there ain't no sense pressin' our luck."

Enos opened the door and grabbed both of their packs, handing Daisy hers. As they walked back to Matt's truck, Enos sighed. "Now I know how a jug of moonshine feels," he told her, "gettin' shuttled around from one place to another."

She laughed and took his hand. Too worn out to protest - for once, he didn't pull away.


	38. Safe and Sound

___The poem captures the image I have in my mind looking off over the ridge from the safe-house. (That, and I love Poe.)  
_

* * *

___At midnight in the month of June,  
I stand beneath the mystic moon.  
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,  
exhales from out her golden rim.  
And slowly dripping, drop by drop,  
upon the quiet mountain top,  
steals drowsily and musically  
into the universal valley...  
_-Edgar Allan Poe, The Sleeper___  
_

* * *

Whatever Enos might have imagined a safe-house looking like, it certainly wasn't the two story timber-frame sitting on top of a ridge, eight miles south of McCaysville. A welcoming glow shone from the cathedral windows of its living room, scattering light out over the freshly cut lawn. The smell of grass blended with the decay of leaves in the forest surrounding them, and above the stars blazed like astrals this far from city lights.

He had been prepared for a moonshiner's shack or trailer or, at best, a small house deep in the woods. The home before him was like something out of a magazine, and when he spared a glance at Daisy, the awe on her face matched how he felt inside. They climbed the steps up to the wide veranda where a porch swing squeaked softly in the breeze.

"Y'all can just drop your stuff here on the porch," said Matt.

Daisy looked questioningly at Enos, who shrugged at her and dropped his pack by the front door. She did the same and they followed Matt into a brightly lit kitchen where a woman, who might be in her sixties with salt and pepper hair, was stirring a large pot on the stove. The aroma of tomatoes and Italian spices hung in the air.

At the sound of the door she turned around, and Enos thought instantly of Daisy's Aunt Lavinia.

"You made it!" She put down her spoon and walked over to them. This close, her age was more apparent, but her smile was contagious and Enos felt himself relax, despite their circumstances. "You must be Enos," she said, warmly, taking his hand. "Amy's been keeping us up to date with...well, with what all happened, ever since last year. There's a lot of people who believe in you."

He felt his face flush, unused to anyone but Daisy sounding so confident about him, especially a stranger. "Thank you, ma'am. I'm much obliged."

"You can just call me June, hun," she said, with a laugh, "Ma'am makes me feel too old." She patted his hand and let it go, turning then to Daisy. "And you must be Daisy."

"Yes...uh...June."

"You're a brave soul, sweetie." She glanced between Daisy and Enos, "We'll talk more about that later, but right now, y'all look like you're about t' fall down. I'll go get my husband and we'll eat." She pointed to a hallway off the kitchen. "There's a bathroom right through there where you can wash up."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Enos.

"June!" she insisted, as she walked away.

Enos let Daisy go first, and from the hallway outside the bathroom, he heard June calling to someone who he guessed must be her husband. He hoped he was as nice as his wife.

* * *

In the farmhouse off Mill Creek Road in Hazzard County, three bone-weary men sat around their kitchen table, trying not to cry in front of each other.

After they had completed the search of the house and turned up nothing of interest, Agents Stewart and Wilburn had asked them to come down to the Sheriff's Station...just to talk. Hoping to find some answers, they agreed, and had spent the next ten hours answering the same run of questions over and over, separately and apart for every Tom, Dick, and Harry it seemed the GBI employed. Finally, with little more information than they had come in with that morning, Uncle Jesse, Bo and Luke had climbed into their truck and driven back to a dark, empty house.

The black cloud of not knowing what had happened or what they should do had settled firmly over each of them. They sat together, but each one was lost in his separate anxieties. Bo fiddled with the salt shaker; Luke shaded his eyes with his hand, propped up on his elbow; and Uncle Jesse, his complexion far more haggard and pale than usual, occasionally swiped at his eyes with his shirtsleeve.

Bo sat the shaker down. "Say, Uncle Jesse, you think we should check down by th' swamp?"

Luke, who had listened all day to an endless stream of suggestions from Bo on where to look, gave him the same answer he had before. "They's smarter than t' stay in Hazzard County, Bo. They ain't gonna be down at th' swamp."

Bo didn't seem to hear him. "You know," he continued, "I just can't see Enos letting Daisy spring him in th'_ first_ place. I mean, shoot, he's gotta know she's just as guilty as he is if they catch her."

"Daisy wants somethin', she ain't never had too much trouble convincing anybody t' help her out," muttered Luke. "'Sides, she's always had Enos in her hip pocket."

Uncle Jesse shook his head. "No, Bo's right. Enos loves her too much to let her put herself in danger like that. If fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he shakes her and turns himself in. He ain't gonna let her take th' rap for it if he can help it. One thing about Enos, he's predictable."

These thoughts on their mind, they descended once again into silence as the clocked ticked by the desperate hours.

* * *

If the condition of the house was unexpected, so too was the man June introduced as her husband. He was of medium build, thin but with a body which would have been strong in his younger years with shrewd blue eyes that had the dept of a lifetime of experience. His hair was thin and wispy white though Enos thought it might have turned prematurely as the man didn't look much older than Rosco. As he shook the man's hand, Enos was positive he'd seen him somewhere before.

"Well met, son." The unusual greeting was paired with an accent which was vaguely southern, but hard to place. "I thought I might have to send a tent out there for Trouble here." He gestured at Matt. "I'm Jack."

"Or you can just call him Trippy," said Matt, "that's what all the old fogies down around th' tracks call him."

He flashed a grin at his son. "Jack'll be fine."

"It's awfully nice t' meet you, sir," answered Enos. He paused, then shook his head in confusion. "I'm sorry, but...have we met before? You look real familiar."

Jack laughed. "You've got a good memory," he said, thumping Enos on the back, "but that's a longer story than I can tell ya' before supper." He led them into the dining room off of the kitchen where a long oak table sat with seven chairs. "Y'all find yourselves a seat and we'll have some grub before we launch into the serious stuff."

Daisy and Enos took seats next to each other, with Jack at the head of the table, June on his right and Matt across from them. Grace was said and plates of the spaghetti which June had been cooking when they came were dished out.

They spent the next hour chatting over superficial things - about the weather and moonshine and fishing and gardening, and Enos felt as though he'd stepped back in time a year, before everything in his world had been destroyed.

At last, when no one could eat another bite, they gathered into the cozy living room in front of an immense stone fireplace.

"I'm surprised you recognized me, Enos," said Jack, "you were probably only seven or eight last time I saw you."

Enos, who had been distracted by the highlights the flames were casting over Daisy's hair, jumped and turned towards him. "Sir?"

"Your father was one of the best men I ever met, son. One of th' best...and I've met a lot of 'em, all over this country."

"You knew my pa'?"

Jack leaned towards him. "I sure did," he said. "Back when the old L & N Railroad used to pass through Hazzard, it was nice to know there was a man I could count on if I was ever too far down on my luck. Your pa' invited me in for many a sit-down over the years, and I always appreciated it."

"Pop, Enos don't know what in th' hell you're talking about," said Matt, good-naturedly. "Do ya', Enos?"

Enos shook his head. "I'm awful sorry, sir, but I really don't. Did you used t' work with the railroad?"

Jack seemed to ponder the question while Matt snorted irreverently. "Well now, I suppose you could say that...but no. The railroad brought me a fair share of money in it's day, carrying me cross country to work in the orchards and fields when I was younger, and then again after the war, but I didn't work for no railroad."

"I still don't understand."

"Pop's the last of a dying breed," said Matt, "he's a hobo."

"A h-_hobo_?" The image of a grimy, homeless beggar flashed in Enos' mind, complete with busted top hat and tin cup. "But...you don't look..."

"Like what you think a hobo should look like?" Jack finished for him. "Well now, there's truth to that, and then there's the fact that not many people understand what a true hobo is in the first place. There's three types of people you meet ridin' the rails. First, you got your hobo, who works where he can and when he can and maybe tries to send a little money home or squirrel it away, then you've got your tramp who can't work but who rides around looking for handouts, then you've got your bums who won't work and who usually stay in one place... getting drunk mostly."

"So...how did you meet my dad?"

"I'd hopped off a freight car right around the Chattahoochee Bridge up there in northern Hazzard County. I usually spent the winters out west, picking in the orchards in California, but I'd gotten word that my mother was sick and I'd come back to Georgia to see her. Since I hadn't been able to pick up work, I didn't have any money and I was worried about how I was going to get down to Taccoa. So, there I was, walking down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, when this souped-up Hudson Hornet pulls up beside me."

Enos grinned, recognizing his father's beloved car.

"So, this guy asks me where I'm headed, and I tell him Stephens County, and he tells me that I'm not gonna make it there in one day and would I like to come and have some supper. Let me tell you, when you've been ridin' a cannonball for three days and ain't had nothing but a bit of old shoe-leather jerky to eat, you don't pass up a free meal. So I told him I was mighty obliged and hopped in the car with him. Next day, he drove me all the way down to Stephens County."

"Wow," said Enos, "it sure is a small world. What year was it, do you know?"

"I sure do. It was 1953."

"So...I would've been born."

"Yep, you were just a little thing," he said, "I wasn't in Georgia a lot, but I tried to stop by whenever I could. I'd help your father out with whatever odd jobs he could find me, and he'd feed me supper. One year, when the corn crops were bad and it had been a tough year, I saved up a little of what I'd earned at a saw-mill up in Montana and bought a little toy six-shooter pistol and holster for your dad to give you for Christmas. He'd done so much for me, I just wanted to repay a little of it to your family."

As Jack spoke, Enos felt his throat tighten. Hearing about his father brought his own memories of the man close to the surface. But the toy gun...that nearly choked him up. He had never had many toys and it had been his most prized possession as a kid. He'd always wondered how his father had bought it – they'd been so poor that year, and yet on Christmas morning, there was the box waiting for him with his name and sent "From Santa".

"Th...thank you, sir."

I'd always wondered what became of him. He's not-"

Enos looked down at his fingers which had begun to fidget. "No, he...he passed away. When I was fifteen."

"I'm real sorry to hear that, son. Mighty sorry." They were both silent for a moment. "That's part of why I wanted to help you," he said, at last. "Not just because I think what happened to you was a terrible travesty of justice, but because one good turn deserves another." He looked over at Daisy who was nearly asleep, and stood up. "Now, you two had best hit th' hay before you fall over. I'll go and show you where you're stayin'. Matt, why don'cha go run down and turn on the lights so we don't trip over ourselves getting out there."

Enos and Daisy struggled to their feet and followed him out through the front door, picking up their stuff along the way. Jack led them around the house and over the crest of the ridge to where a trail was visible in the moonlight. As Enos wondered where in the world they were going and how far it was, a light suddenly flicked on ahead of them, shining from two windows a short distance through the woods. A few seconds later, an outside light came on, revealing a small cabin.

"We run a bed and breakfast during the summer,'" Jack was saying, "more so the locals expect to see strangers around here than to make money. It's not much, but it's got it's own electricity and bathroom. Though, I'll warn you, the hot water heater is about the size of a watermelon, so don't expect much from it."

Enos stumbled up onto the porch after him and Daisy steadied him as Jack opened the door. Inside, it was small, but efficient. It appeared to be one main room, connected to a small kitchen area. There was a full-sized bed and a couch in the main living room and the kitchen had a sink and half-sized gas stove. He suspected Daisy was just as overwhelmed as himself.

"Sir," he said, "we can't accept somethin' like this. We've got some money, we can pay you for the cabin."

"Absolutely not," replied Jack, "I won't hear of it. We old hobos don't hold much with the green-backs, 'cept for paying the electric bills and I'm not worried about those."

"But...I have t' offer you _something!_"

Jack narrowed his eyes and studied Enos thoughtfully. "I tell you what. I'll barter with you. My knees just ain't what they used to be thirty years ago, 'specially the one I banged up in '61. I'd like to get my new barn finished before harvest time. If you can do the hard work, I'll teach you the how-to and throw in the room and board."

"That sounds real good, sir," said Enos.

Jack spat into his hand and held it out to Enos, who did the same and sealed the deal.

"Now," said Jack, "my wife's insisting that you two come up for lunch and supper at the house everyday." When Enos began to protest that she was too generous, Jack waved him off. "It's purely selfish, I assure you. We've got two more children, an older son, Mike, and a daughter, Ginny who have families of their own now. She misses having them around, and Amy's told us so much about you...I'd watch out or June'll try to adopt the both of you."

"Tell her thank you," said Daisy. "We'll make sure we stop in."

"She'll appreciate it," he said. "If there's anything y'all need, just holler. If you want eggs for breakfast, you're welcome to help yourself. The hen-house is around back of the house. We have so many eggs, we're always trying to give them away. There's potatoes in the cellar...probably onions, too, canned stuff. If the GBI hasn't been sniffing around too close, my wife goes shopping up in Knoxville every other weekend and you can go with her. That's far enough that if anyone saw you, they wouldn't come snooping around here."

He checked his watch. "I'm gonna go on and let you two settle in," he said. "Daisy, use anything you need around here. Enos, go ahead and get a good nights sleep and come find me whenever you're on your feet and we'll start planning out that barn."

"Yes sir."

Jack yawned. "All right, well, I'll see y'all in th' morning."

The door shut behind him, leaving Enos and Daisy alone in the cabin. For a long time, they could only look around them in stunned silence.

"You take th' bed," said Enos. "I'll take the couch."

"You sure?" she asked, "I can sleep on the couch."

"No. You take it. I'm gonna go sit outside for a while."

Daisy watched him walk to the door and pull it open. "Enos-"

He turned around.

"You won't... You'll stay, won't you?"

A flash of anger in his eyes before he slammed the door was the only answer she got.


	39. The Dark Within

_"When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."_  
-Friedrich Neitzsche

* * *

It was dark.

Even in the middle of the night, it had never been this dark in prison. The florescent lights were always on, hanging like giant wasps nests from the ceilings of the long, spotless hallways. They shone like the mid-day sun through the square window of his door at Fulton when he was in general population, through the bars in SHU with it's nasty green paint, and then later at Jackson where the Ad Seg units were lit 24 hours a day.

By the time his trial had come along, it had become almost unbearable - as he imagined the eternal days of arctic summer must have been to the first settlers of Alaska, creeping into his subconscious and chipping away at his sanity. In Jackson, it was worse because night no longer existed there, and by winter he had begun losing long stretches of time during which if he slept or not he couldn't say.

Days had stretched into weeks. Weeks into months. At times, he'd longed for darkness more than he yearned for his freedom, and he found he could barely remember what night had been like. He'd begun to wonder if true darkness existed only inside of him, inside of his mind, and if when he was dead it would seep out from him - like inky blood and cover the Earth.

He crossed the porch and sat down on the top step. All around him, there was nothing but blackness and the sounds of the night.

"This ain't real," he whispered, his voice sounding thin and frail in the cool mountain air.

It _couldn't_ be real, and yet his hallucinations had never been this convincing before. He didn't have the gift of imagination that some of the men had – the ones who claimed to have been on mystical journeys, visiting their mommas and girlfriends without ever leaving their cell. His own out of body experiences, if he'd had them, culminated in nothing more than lost time, peeling paint, and staring at the wall.

_Shoveling sand..._

His fingers explored the roughness of the wood beneath them as the darkness pressed against him. The branches of the trees rattled in the wind, and his mind's eye conjured up unseen skeletons swaying from their boughs. His heart beat faster. It was all so...so _real_.

Maybe this was death and dying...maybe he was suffocating in his blanket or choking on his vomit or maybe...

("_Time to go, Strate_.")

His body jerked unconsciously at the voice, and he scrambled away from the edge of the porch until his back hit the wall of the cabin. He stood and grabbed at the doorknob, pushing the weight of his shoulder into turning it. The door swung open easily, spilling him onto the floor of the brightly lit room.

Daisy was to him in a flash. "Enos! Sugar, are you aright!? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Daisy." Batting her hands out of the way, he dragged himself up off the floor. "Quit fussin' over me, I just tripped."

"You looked like you saw a ghost, coming in like that!"

He scooped his pack up from beside the couch and brushed past her without a word, disappearing down the narrow hallway between the kitchen and living areas. The bathroom door slammed behind him.

Daisy stared down the empty hall for a long time, wondering what had made him so upset. She'd been sitting on the bed when the door had opened, thinking that she should go out and talk to him, and had looked up just in time to see the naked terror in his eyes before he'd hit the floor.

The cabin's pipes groaned and creaked and then fell silent with the sound of running water in the shower. Daisy sighed and shook her head and turned back into the main room.

The rich, amber glow from the oil lamp on the bedside table danced over the furniture and the roughly hewn beams of the cabin's walls and the nine-patch quilt which covered the bed. She'd made up the couch for Enos with a pillow and a second quilt she had found stashed in a closet. It wasn't much, but she couldn't imagine it being worse than sleeping on a metal bunk or a concrete block.

She pulled her pack up onto the bed with her, intending to find some clean clothes, but instead lay her head against it and closed her eyes. They'd been on the run less than 24 hours, and already Hazzard seemed like a lifetime removed from her. She thought about Uncle Jesse and the boys, and of Cooter and Rosco, and of what kinds of questions the GBI surely must have asked them by now, and whispered a prayer that they would stay strong and that someday she might be able to see them again.

* * *

Daisy had already crawled into bed by the time Enos came out of the bathroom, dressed in clean jeans and a white t-shirt. He tossed his backpack at the foot of the couch and stared at the pillow and quilt, running his hand over the dark stubble where his hair had begun to grow out.

"Is it okay?" she asked, softly, trying not to think about how thin and gaunt he looked. "There's another quilt in th' closet."

He turned, and Daisy knew he'd forgotten she was there.

"No... No, this is fine. Thanks."

He lay down on his back and pulled the quilt over him. To Daisy, he looked lost, almost child-like.

"You ready for me to turn out the light?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She trimmed the wick, and the cabin plunged into darkness. "Night Enos."

"Night, Daisy."

Enos lay on the couch, staring with wide eyes deep into the nothingness, and listened to Daisy's breathing until it slowed and changed as sleep found her.

He should leave now. That had been his plan all along - to get her somewhere safe and then find the closest Police Station and end this crazy thing. McCaysville was only eight miles away, and he thought he might be able to walk it by morning if he pushed himself.

Only... he _couldn't_.

He'd gotten too caught up in everything earlier to think straight, and he'd gone and made a deal to help Jack with his dang barn. Now he was caught between keeping his promise or turning himself in to protect _her_. Beyond the porch, the howls of coyotes echoed from the over the ridge, and Enos felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck.

Somewhere out there, they were looking for him.

The night wore on and the moonlight passed through the window beside the door, throwing strange shadows into the cabin. The rushing stir of leaves and the soft tread of deer outside became the sounds of footsteps of men moving to surround them. As he listened, terrified, Enos began to long for his cell at Jackson - for the concrete walls, bright lights, and hermetically sealed door that protected him from everything outside.

* * *

At the GBI base set up in Hazzard's Police Station, night came and went with nothing but dead-end tips and cold leads. Tempers flared as the investigation turned up nothing, and Rosco, who had played the dumb, country Sheriff routine in an Oscar-worthy performance, had decided to assign himself patrol duty for the night.

He'd crossed all his "T"'s and dotted all his "I"'s as far as he could remember, and so far he wasn't a person of interest. Boss had turned out to be his best alibi, attesting to his Sheriff's hatred of the Duke clan and colorfully swearing Rosco would never, under any circumstances, help one out.

The sun had risen less than a half-hour before and the mist still lingered in the shade of the trees as Rosco slowed the cruiser to a crawl and rubbed at his eyes. He'd been up most of the last twenty-four hours and his body longed for bed. At Crabtree Lane, he swung the car around and headed back to Hazzard, hoping to catch a couple hours of sleep before Boss called him back in. The CB, which had been largely silent through the night, crackled to life.

"Scout 2. Base copy."

"10-4, Scout 2, 10-21?"

"We're above Stillson Canyon, base. We've got a submerged vehicle out here. We're coming around for a closer look." Silence. "Yeah, I don't know... you're gonna want a wrecker out here and some divers. We need to secure the scene."

"10-4, Scout 2."

"Hellfire an' damnation," Rosco muttered, slamming on his brakes. "Hold on, Flash, Daddy's gonna have to see what's goin' on." He picked up the CB, debating whether or not to call in. He wasn't technically part of the GBI's team, but appearing helpful would go a long way in proving his innocence. He pressed the call button. "Uh...base, this is Ros-co P. Coltrane, I'm headin' up that way. I'm gone."

"...10-4, Hazzard 1. Scout 2, 311, 312, 314, Hazzard 1 in route."

"10-4, Base."

* * *

It was early, barely light, and the cabin was still bathed in deep shadows when Daisy awoke. Their nap in the mines the previous day had altered her sleep pattern enough that she was wide awake now, even though the clock on the side table read only five-fifteen. She sat up and pushed the hair back from her face - and saw the empty couch.

Her first thought was that he'd left, and she fell out of the bed, catching herself on her hands and knees at the last second. Already sobbing, she fought her way out of the quilt she was tangled in and ran to the door. It was still locked with the simple chain slide from the inside. Not something that could have been easily re-locked from someone outside the cabin. The sharp edge of panic dulled further as she noticed his pack, sitting where he'd dropped it after his shower, and his boots lined up neatly beside them. He couldn't be gone. Surely he wouldn't have left off with bare feet in the woods, now would he?

She went down the narrow hallway and stopped outside the bathroom. A light shone brightly from around the cracks of the door. She knocked softly.

"Enos?"

There was no answer. She knocked again, louder, but still there was nothing, not even the sound of movement from the other side.

_Oh God, what if he's..._ She squelched the thought in it's tracks- or tried too, but the damage had been done. He'd been so quiet, so unlike himself last night, and it was only the macabre vision of his dead body, hanging limply from the curtain rod that forced her to do what she did next.

The doorknob was cold and slick from the sweat of her own hand. _It'll be locked,_ she thought_, or if it's not, I'm gonna be fifty shades of embarrassed when he's on the john and just didn't hear me knocking._

The knob turned easily, a soft squeak it's only protest as she cracked open the door. Her heart pounded in her chest as she peered in. The room seemed empty, and she pushed the door open further only to have it hit something, barring its way.

That something turned out to be Enos...asleep on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, his tall frame curled into the corner between the wall and the shower stall with only the quilt wrapped around his legs. Both lights blazed above him.

Daisy wasn't sure whether to laugh in relief or cry, heartbroken. For a long time, she stood in the doorway and watched him sleep, knowing he would be upset if he woke and caught her, but powerless to leave him. For nearly a year's worth of nights, she had lain awake in bed wondering – worrying over him. Now, here he was – a bit rougher around the edges than she remembered and no doubt harboring demons inside of him the likes of which she could not fathom – but he was _here_. He was _safe._

He was _hers._

Daisy's musing was cut short by knocking on the front door of the cabin. She glanced around wildly, thinking immediately of the GBI, but forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. They wouldn't be knocking, would they? If they knew Enos was here, they would just beat down the door and storm in.

The knock came again, a bit louder, but still in the range of what could be considered courteous. Daisy shut the door and hurried back to the living room and the front door. She swung it open to find a rather sheepish looking Matt standing in front of her.

"Hey," he said, contritely, "I didn't wake ya', did I? My mom wanted me t' bring ya'll some eggs and sausage." He held out a small cardboard box with half a dozen eggs, their shells a creamy brown color, and a large lump of reddish meat wrapped in a plastic bag. "She said she'd see if the little ice-box from the basement is still workin' and you could have it here if you wanted."

"Oh!" She exclaimed, taking the box he'd offered, "Wow, thanks. Tell your mom not to go to any trouble on our account, though. We'll be fine."

He grinned and snorted a laugh. "Ya'll are gonna be more apt t' turn mud into moonshine than to make her to quit fussing over you. 'Sides, she wants you t' have the fridge so she can pawn off leftovers on ya'. Least that's what I'm betting."

"You aren't a left-over fan?" she asked, bemused.

"If it wasn't good enough to eat it all the first time, why bring it around for a second pass?"

Daisy just laughed and rolled her eyes. "Some of us poor people don't have much choice, mister."

Matt's mouth dropped open and he had the decency to blush. "I didn't mean...I'm sorry, I really didn't..."

"Sugar, you've gotta learn when I'm just kiddin'." She glanced back down at the box. "Tell your mom we really appreciate everything."

"I will. Don't forget she wants to feed you lunch, too." He leaned to one side, peering around behind her. "Is Enos here?"

"Uh...he's...in th' shower."

"Oh. Oh, well, dad said for him to meet him behind the house at the storage building when he's ready. He's been talkin' about that damn barn for six months. Maybe he'll finally get a start on it. I offered to help him, but to be honest with you, I don't think he wants me to know how bad his knee's been hurtin' him lately. He always finds something else that needs doin' first when I ask."

"How bad _is_ it?"

"It's why he ain't ridin' trains no more," said Matt. "He broke his kneecap trying to catch out in the rain up in Lexington in '61. Apparently he'd had some run-in with the local bull 'cause he'd never have tried to catch it otherwise. Stupid, he called it. The Baldwin Diesel was charging down a hill and by the time he got down to the tracks, the thing was goin' nearly twenty right outta th' station. Damned near took his leg off, but he held on and made it all the way to Blue Ridge."

"He rode from Lexington, Kentucky, to here with a busted knee? Your dad's one tough fella!"

Matt laughed. "Well, not so tough, I guess. See, it wasn't th' knee that kept him from goin' back out. It was meetin' my mom."

Daisy grinned back. "Thanks for th' eggs, Matt. I'll make sure Enos meets up with your dad."

He nodded a good-bye to her and left, jumping over the steps and off the porch.

* * *

Cooter was used to pulling cars out of the water; after all, hardly a month went by when Rosco or Cletus didn't take a dunk in some water hole somewheres. Then there was the occasional drunk who found his car floating after he'd missed a curve on the snake-like back roads and every once in a while, there was an honest to gosh accident. He'd hook onto the front and reel them in, whispering to himself that he'd caught a big one, imagining he was charter fishing for tuna or marlin or some other exotic monster of a fish. He didn't mind it. It paid the bills.

But even after fifteen years of hauling crap out of ponds, he was utterly unprepared for what he was about to pull out of the bottom of Stillson Canyon. The GBI had called him out, presumably because he was the only wrecker service in a fifty mile area, and he hadn't thought much about it as one of the divers swam out with tow cable and hooked it to the end of something sunken in the murky depths. Just the evening before, they'd had him haul a vehicle out of Sticky Swamp. It turned out to be a patrol car from the mid-'60's. Cooter hadn't been surprised. There were patrol cars buried in most of the swamps around Hazzard.

He hit the button to reel in the tow cable and watched with mild curiosity to see what it would bring up. The motor whined and labored, hitching occasionally, and he was running over it's diagram in his mind, thinking it was time to change it's seals, when the vehicle burst through the surface of the lake.

If he had not grabbed onto the rail of his truck to steady himself, he would have fallen, as his legs lost their strength and his mouth dried up like cotton. He watched helplessly, his eyes fastened to the object, as though he were stuck in some strange, slow-motion horror film - the kind where you know what's behind the door, but you still jump anyway when it opens.

The entire body of the white CJ-7 was clear of the water less than fifteen seconds later. Clods of muck and long strands of slimy, green algae draped from the hood like thick, bloated worms. Water poured from the wheel wells. The entire back-end was gone, crushed all the way up to the interior. The busted headlight and broken grill gave Dixie the appearance of winking malevolently at him.

_"Hey there, Cooter," _she seemed to say with a grin_, "just watch how much trouble I'm gonna cause!"_


	40. The Gathering

___"I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silent hurt more."_  
-C.S. Lewis  


* * *

By the time Enos awoke and made his way to the kitchen where Daisy was cooking, the sun was well up. It shone through the window above the sink, settling in warm patches of light across the wooden floor. It was a cheery morning, the kind that reminded Daisy that summer was just around the corner, but it seemed to darken somehow with his entrance, and the uncomfortable silence between the two of them.

_There's a storm inside Enos_, thought Daisy, as he dragged a chair back from the small table and sat down. _Like a cloud's covering his sun. He wasn't like this when Nervous Norman was after me._

She thought wistfully of that other morning, less than two years before, when he'd been smiling and cheerful, thanking her shyly for making his bed and brewing his coffee. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his uniform against her hands and the smell of his aftershave. Things she'd taken for granted, times she'd used him as a crutch and nothing more.

But his mood on this morning was sullen, and there were dark smudges beneath his eyes. He watched his fingers as they picked nervously at his ragged nails. He still hadn't said a word.

"Hey, Sugar," she said, more brightly than she felt, "Matt came by early and dropped off some eggs an' sausage." She sat a plate with a generous portion of each in front of him with a fork. He frowned at it. "An' don't you look at it like I just gave you a bowl of cold grits! You gotta eat."

He mumbled a soft 'thanks' and picked up the fork, pushing at the eggs, but not eating.

Daisy pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, and his eyes shifted up to follow her; the grace of the simple motions, the length of her fingers as they clasped in front of her. They were the movements of life, the things he'd always taken for granted before – things of beauty that now seemed so out of place to him in his world.

In prison, reading a person's body language saved your skin. A look flashed between two guys and then at him meant that he was probably going to get jumped at the next yard time. Blood would stain the ground, usually his, but only because they ganged up on him.

He'd learned how to fight the hard way, bruise by bruise, until one day, that blood on the ground had been _theirs_ instead of his. He'd stood above them, fists clenched tight and adrenaline surging through him, on a high more powerful than any dope fiend could ever hope to reach. It had been both awesome and terrifying - but what had scared the heck out of him the most was how _good_ it had felt to beat those numb-skulls senseless.

In the end he'd paid the price for that day. He'd paid it in full. It had nearly cost him his life...the verdict was still out on whether it had cost him his sanity. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked away from Daisy, realizing that he was watching her, not because she was beautiful, but because he was waiting for her to _attack_ him. His hand shook as he stabbed at the egg on his plate.

Daisy seemed not to notice. "If you feel up to it," she said, "Jack wants you to meet him out behind the house this morning. "

He paused in his egg maceration to look up, his eyes dark. "Why _wouldn't_ I feel up to it?"

She frowned at the anger in his voice. If he was going to take everything personally, she'd have to watch what she said more closely. "It's just a phrase, Enos. He meant you didn't have to go if you didn't want to."

_("Time to go, Strate.")_

His fork hit the plate with a loud clang as he pushed himself back from the table.

"Enos, are you okay?"

He shot her a look that said simply; _You know darn well that I'm not_, before he grabbed a flannel shirt from his pack and headed to the door.

"Thanks for th' food, Daisy. I'm much obliged."

The door swung shut behind him.

* * *

Cooter, with what remained of Dixie in tow, drove back to Hazzard, escorted by State Police and GBI Investigators and Rosco bringing up the rear. They circled the square, like some macabre parade, moving slowly around to the impound yard where the police cruisers broke off, giving him room to back the tow truck into the garage.

He went through the motions of the job without thinking, worried if he thought about what he was towing and how exactly Dixie had found herself at the bottom of Stillson Canyon, he would crack. So far, the GBI hadn't even questioned him except to ask in passing if he'd noticed a white CJ-7 parked along the curb down from his garage the night of the escape. No, he said, he'd hadn't seen anything parked outside.

But _this_. This was different. Hell, this was _family_!

It was still early morning, a blessing since most people were just getting around to getting up, and the HazzardNet had been silent as he'd hauled his precious cargo through the county's back-roads. If it had been later, he could have counted on a certain orange Charger to be pulling up in front of him right about now.

The Dukes were another problem. It didn't take more than a shaker full of brains to figure out that one of the stories would be how Daisy and Enos had run themselves off the cliff at Hickory Ridge. While plausibly romantic, Cooter was pretty sure they wouldn't dredge up any bodies in the lake. He knew when Daisy must have ditched Dixie – and it had been _before_ she'd broken Enos out.

Thing was, Bo, Luke and Uncle Jesse didn't know anything about it one way or another, and if he went and spilled the beans, their reactions wouldn't be as genuine as they would if he told them nothing. Saved from the 'black suits' (as he had begun thinking of the guys from the GBI) by blissful ignorance.

Cooter unhitched Dixie from the wench while some of the beefier members of the State Patrol helped muscle what remained of the Jeep onto the concrete floor of the impound garage. He scribbled his name on a few papers, and had whoever looked like the one in charge of the moment sign a couple for his records as well, and lit out before anyone started asking questions.

He was only halfway around the corner from the impound when the familiar roar of a still distant 440 big block caught his ear. It was coming fast and he'd only gotten another fifteen steps further when the General Lee's tires screamed around the corner and it came to a sudden jerking stop beside the curb ahead of him.

Bo and Luke's faces were ashen and livid as they climbed out and then advanced on him, and Cooter was too stunned to think of a good excuse for them on the fly. So much for staying out of the firing line.

They reached him at the same time, Bo to his right and Luke on his left.

"What's goin' on, Cooter?" asked Bo, his voice harsh and thick with worry. "We done heard you was towin' a Jeep into the impound garage not twenty minutes ago. You'd better tell us what all this is about!"

Luke was more methodical, but his hands clutched the sleeve of Cooter's jean jacket with a force that belied his outward calm as he looked the mechanic straight in the eye. "Was it Dixie?" he asked.

"Now fellas, you _know_ I cain't tell you nothin' about it," he said, knowing he was just stalling at best, "them boys'll eat me alive if they found out!"

Bo grabbed his collar and cocked his fist back at him, "I'll show you wha-"

"Bo!" Luke wrenched his cousin back from Cooter. "Knock it off, Bo! Now, Cooter," he said, placatingly, "you an' me go back a long way. If there's somethin' you can tell us, we'd be much obliged. Uncle Jesse's just about sick with worry. Tell you th' truth, he's more than sick. I ain't never seen him this way. We'd never let them know you told us, you know that."

Cooter dropped his eyes, away from the blatant pleading of Luke's and the raging fire in Bo's. "I know it, buddy-roe," he said, finally. He took a couple of deep breaths, then looked back up at them. "Look, I'll tell you what I know. But not _here_, an' not _now_. The first thing y'all need t' do is go over and talk to the GBI, try to find out what _they_ know. If I tell you what I know first, it's gonna make you look suspicious."

Luke nodded. "That's a good idea. It'll give us a feel for them and maybe convince them that we ain't got no idea what's going on either. I tell you what, we'll meet you out at still site number two at noon."

"Sounds good," Cooter answered. "But...I gotta feelin' there's one more piece of this puzzle who needs t' be there. Y'all mind me doin' a little shuckin' and jivin' on your behalf?"

"Nope," said Bo, who was looking considerably calmer. "Shuck an' jive away, Cooter."

As Bo and Luke made their way over to the Sheriff's Station, Cooter bypassed his garage and continued on the next corner and the pay phone outside Rhuebottom's. He filched a dime from his jeans pocket and slipped it into the change slot. There was a crackling click on the line and then a dial tone. He punched in the number of the Hazzard Police Station.

It rang twice before picking up.

_"This is Ros-co P. Coltrane."_

Cooter strained his voice into a high, simpering falsetto. "Sheriff? Oh, I'm so glad I got hold of you! I just wanted t' tell you that the Dukes are gonna be out at their old still site up on Possum Bluff at one o'clock today."

_"Oouu-geet! They're makin' moonshine again, I just know it! This time, I'm gonna get 'em...Bust 'em an' get them dang city slickers offa my back!"_

"Yeah, well...just make sure you go alone, Sheriff. Boss's too fat t' get up there an' that ijit Cletus'll mess the whole thing up."

_"Ouu! You've got a good point there. Who did you say this was?"_

"Just a concerned citizen, Sheriff." The line went dead as Cooter hung up the receiver.

* * *

Enos shrugged on the flannel shirt as he walked down the trail leading from the cabin to the homestead. The air was crisp and cool, but the breeze was warm and smelled of earth and grass and the newness of Spring. In his old life, the day would have brought him joy.

He found Jack waiting for him, or rather he supposed he was waiting since he was where Daisy had said he would be. The man was bent low over a makeshift table set up by a piece of plywood stretched across two old wooden sawhorses. His white hair ruffled slightly in the breeze. Suddenly the wind caught the paper he was scribbling on, whipping it from the table and up into the air where it looped like a drunken airplane before being carried past the chicken coop on its way over the ridge.

Enos ran after it and after a few attempts to catch it, finally managed to snag it out of the air.

"Good catch!" Jack called after him. "If we'd of lost that, we'd be back at square one!"

Enos glanced down at the blueprint of the barn. More of a shed, it was a simple square building without embellishments. "Yes, sir," he answered, bringing it back. "You sure don't want _me_ drawin' up the plans. I'd do well to draw a circle without it comin' out straight."

Jack laughed easily at his joke and hunted around on the ground until he came up with four good-sized rocks. "Lay it back down there and we'll throw these on it." He sat a sharp, angular rock on each corner of the paper which Enos laid down on the plywood. "There now, maybe that'll take care of it. The quartz we've got around here ain't good for much, but it makes darn good paperweights."

Enos picked up one of the rocks and examined it. It was mostly white with brown spots and dirty splotches of pink mixed in. One end had broken off and was as sharp as glass, clear but smoky. "This is quartz?" he asked, studying the rock, "I thought quartz crystal was s'posed to be...well..._pretty_." No doubt about it, if God had created an ugly rock, this was it. The ground was littered with them, ranging in size from pebbles to small boulders further off towards the wood line.

"Yep, rose quartz I think they call it. You don't find the pretty crystals much. Most of it's like this, and they're everywhere. When our kids were young, they'd have to go out and pick up a wheelbarrow full of rocks if they got in trouble. Seems like the more you pick up, the more there are." He looked up at Enos. "Sleep okay?"

"Uh...yessir." Enos felt a crimson flush steal over his face at the lie, because Jack's expression told him that he didn't believe a word of it. The older man stood staring at him, as though he hadn't heard him and was waiting for the real answer. "It's...it's hard to sleep in th' dark, sir," he said, quietly. "They kept th' lights on in pri-...at Jackson."

"Not surprised," Jack said, nodding, "gotta break your spirit if they can't break your back."

"I reckon." A shiver crawled up his spine, remembering just how close he'd come to the latter.

Jack gave him a sad smile. "It'll take time, son," he said, gently. "Don't rush yourself... Something I want t' show you though, and I think it would better if you saw it now than later." He gestured for Enos to follow him as he led them away from the house and back towards the woods on the side where the cabin stood, but further up the drive and closer to the main road. "Did anyone tell you what we do here, me and my wife?"

"Daisy said Amy told her it was a safe house."

"That's right. The bed and breakfast makes us some money, but that ain't why we're up here. We're a way-point in what you might call a sort of underground railroad."

"For _criminals_?" Enos spat the word out in distaste. No matter what the state of Georgia considered him, he was still on the side of the law when it came to those who had actually broken it. Anyone who would harbor a true fugitive didn't hold much stock in his book.

Jack gave him an odd look. "No...not like that. Now, don't get me wrong, we've been known to help a few moonshiners get outta town when the Feds were on their heels, but that's not what... My daughter works at a women's shelter down in Atlanta."

Now it was Enos' turn to stare as the wheels slowly turned, examining this new piece of information and trying to fit it into the puzzle. "A women's shelter? You mean for...for..."

Jack nodded gravely. "For battered women. It started about four years ago, a woman with her three kids came in, and Ginny - that's my daughter - said you'd be hard pressed to find a spot on her that wasn't bruised. She'd stuck it out for years with her husband beating her on and off pretty regular, but when he turned it on the kids was when she finally broke down and came in. Ginny tried to talk her into staying and pressing charges, but the next day she went back to him. A week later, she turned up at the shelter again, and this time her four year old son had his arm in a cast. Her husband told her he'd kill her if she left him, and she believed it. Well...we put our heads together; me, June and Ginny, and decided we had to offer her a better choice than that."

"So you brought them here?"

"Yep, then on to another family down in Texas who sent them on to another and another until they ended up where they felt like they were safe. If they want, there's people who know how to fake an ID so well it'd fool the FBI, but that's somethin' you'd have to talk to someone else about. We're strictly a safe-house." They had reached the edge of the woods and Jack walked in about three feet before crouching down. Enos followed him. "See anything different?"

Enos looked around, then down at the ground where his keen eyes picked out the thin strand of clear fishing line running roughly four inches off the ground. Being a moonshiner's son, he'd seen the old fishing lines with pie pans on them plenty of times, but instead of being tied to the trees, this one was held in place by small stakes, placed three or four feet apart. "It's booby-trapped!"

"And not just any booby-trap, mind you. Ain't no plates and skillets that'll rattle when you step on _this_ one. It's all electronic, all the way from the drive down to the river and up the other side, too. That's why the trail down to the cabin's so hard to find and winds around. It's the only way you can get in without setting off the alarm at night. If it's tripped, it sounds in the house as well as in the cabin."

"Possum on a gumbush...," Enos murmured. "But what about deer? Don't they set it off all the time?"

"Not as much as you'd think. They step higher than the trip line. The coons give us some trouble, but most of the time it's pretty quiet. If it does trip and it's an animal, you can just shut off the breaker in the cabin and then turn it on again and it'll reset. It's better t' be safe than sorry, though."

"I reckon so," he agreed.

Jack stood up and walked back out. "Anyway, I thought I'd show you that before you started gettin' paranoid about the FBI sneakin' up on the cabin." He trained his gaze on Enos, in a long and knowing look. "'Cause you will. Everyone who's on th' run starts seein' things in the shadows before long. Just know that you're as safe here as anywhere. I'd move y'all on to the family in Texas next week, but they're out of town until the first week of May. Goin' on some kind of RV tour, I think."

"I'm much obliged to ya', Jack..uh, sir...but it ain't _me_ I want protected."

"Daisy? Son, the best way to keep her safe is gonna be keepin' _yourself_ safe." He clapped Enos on the shoulder. "Let's get on back to lookin' at that barn before June calls us in for lunch."

* * *

On a wooded knoll southwest of Eagle Point and northeast of Quarry Lake, Uncle Jesse, Bo, Luke and Cooter, were hashing out just what exactly had happened to Dixie, Daisy, and Enos. Cooter himself was feeling a little faint, owing to the fact that he'd just admitted to having seen the latter two in the wee hours of the morning the day before.

"You did _what_?! Cooter Davenport, you'd better start talkin'!"

Cooter cringed. It was rare that Uncle Jesse lost his temper, but this was as angry as he'd ever seen the man. Bo and Luke were struck speechless and he decided to press on before one or both of them beat the snot out of him.

"Please, Uncle Je-"

"I ain't your Uncle Jesse!" he roared. "And you'd best have a good explanation for everything, and I mean _right now_!"

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell y'all!" he shot back. He told them how he'd found her in the basement of the courthouse, and how she'd asked him not to turn the power back on until after lunch and about picking her up around the backside of Stillson Canyon. Finally, he told them about her and Enos waking him up and asking him for a ride out to the Boar's Nest. He conveniently left out his own part with disabling the patrol car, at least until they calmed down.

"You gotta believe me, fellas, I was just tryin' to protect her. I didn't even know what was goin' on until they showed up on my doorstep!"

Uncle Jesse, finally rendered speechless, sat down heavily on an upturned stump. Bo let out a long whistle.

"So...you mean t' tell us that she'd been planning this all along?" asked Luke, looking pale and tired. "I don't understand how we wouldn't have known. And besides, how could she have done it under the noses of all them State Patrol officers stationed there guarding him?"

"Well, now, my bet's on somebody a little closer to the action helpin' her," said Cooter. "You didn't see how she was dressed that night she busted him out."

"Dressed? Dressed like what?"

"She was dressed up like a Hazzard County Sheriff's Deputy, that's what."

"A _deputy_!?" repeated Bo, "how in th' world would she have managed _that_?"

Luke elbowed Bo. "I think your answer's comin' up th' hill right now, cuz."

Through the rustling leaves, the sounds of muttering and murmuring drifted towards them, along with the indelicate crashes of someone unaccustomed to walking in the woods.

"_ALLLLRIGHT_ you Dukes!" shouted Rosco, as he came over the hill. His hat was jammed at an irregular angle on his head, covered with mud and dead leaves. He waved his pistol around wildly. "You're under arrest!"

Bo, Luke, and Uncle Jesse gathered around him. "_We're_ under arrest?" shouted Uncle Jesse, "Rosco, you've got some explainin' t' do or it ain't gonna be _us_ gettin' hauled off to the slammer!" He leaned closer to Rosco and the Sheriff shrank back. In his dismay, he dropped his gun.

"I...I don't have any idea what you're talkin' about, Jesse. You're up here at your still an' the only reason for that is that you're makin' moonshine again." His voice sounded more hopeful than anything, as though he were wishing that was all it was.

"We're up here tryin' to get to the bottom of what happened to Daisy and Enos! Cooter tells me she was all gussied up like a deputy the night they ran off."

Rosco flashed an angry glance at the mechanic. "Cooter!"

Uncle Jesse grabbed Rosco by the collar and gave him a shake. "Just you never mind about _Cooter_!" he shouted, "If you know somethin' about Daisy, then you'd best spill it right here and right now!"

Luke gently pulled Uncle Jesse back before facing Rosco. "Listen, Rosco, if you helped her we ain't got a problem with it. And we give you our word as Dukes that it would never get beyond the five of us."

"The word of a Duke!" Rosco sneered, but his eyes were frightened and his face had turned pale.

"We just want to know, Rosco, is all," said Bo. "She didn't tell us nothin'. Didn't leave no note. For all we knew this mornin', the two of them was at the bottom of Stillson Canyon."

"And that's what the GBI better _keep_ thinkin'," Rosco told them, "at least until they dredge the lake and come up empty. Y'all know they ain't drowned themselves."

"Tell us what you know, Rosco," said Luke. "Please."

The Sheriff watched them all with wary eyes for a moment before saying, finally, "If Boss or the GBI or FBI or anybody else finds out about this, I promise you, Jesse, your boys'll do the hardest time they've ever seen, if I have to frame 'em up myself."

"No ones gonna say nothin', Rosco," assured Uncle Jesse, "now spill it."

So Rosco told them his part of the story, along with how he'd found her up at their other still site one day burnin' all her clothes. That sent a look of surprise around the rest of them, but not Rosco.

"Boss nearly fired her for wearin' 'farm clothes' to work," he said. "But y'all didn't see her when she came to the station everyday after work, asking after news about Enos," he said. "Nearly whacked me upside the head when I suggested she was just gonna hang him out to dry when the next lawbreaker came along." He paused, an amused smile on his mouth. "Darned if th' girl didn't figure out she loved that dipstick after all."


	41. A Stitch in Time

_A/N: Sorry for the wait! Thanks so much to Enos'sGal for her encouragement and for everyone who reviews, you keep me going!_

* * *

_"__All I needed was the love you gave,  
All I needed for another day.  
You're all I ever knew - only you."  
_-Josh Radin___  
_

* * *

Daisy lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. The boards ran neatly parallel from the peak of the roof to where they sloped down to meet the wall, their dark rings spreading out from the knotholes in strange wavy patterns like ghosts etched into the grain.

The lights were off, but the glow of the two night lights and the light over the sink lit the room well enough to see clearly. The alarm clock beside the bed read 1:20 am. She was alone, Enos having disappeared shortly after supper to wherever it was he went in order to escape having to be alone with her.

He perplexed her. Around Jack and Jane, he had managed to resurrect some semblance of the man she had once known. But his smiles never seemed real enough to her, and his laughter had a hollow ring that made her cringe to hear it. It was as though he was portraying a caricature of himself - like a John Wayne impersonator with the voice and all the right moves, but with none of the heart.

Alone with her in the mornings, he shifted between moody and quiet sullenness to sudden bursts of anger over things that seemed so inconsequential that it left her emotionally drained. Often by late morning she had already had one good cry. That darkness - that storm that she'd seen in his eyes on the first morning they'd spent in the cabin, was still there. Most people wouldn't catch it, maybe not even Bo and Luke or Uncle Jesse, but it seemed to blind him to the world around him. At times he acted as though she wasn't there at all and would walk away in the middle of her sentence, fogged and dazed, with a blank expression on his face.

Her queries about what had happened to him that last week at Fulton had been met with stony silence, and the slightest hint of that subject always sent him running off in the other direction.

As the barn that he and Jack were building came together, she worried that he was making plans to leave her. He would sooner cut his arm off than break his promise to the guy, but when it was finished – what then? Would she wake one morning to find him truly gone?

Her eyes shifted back to the clock which now read 1:32 am. She sighed deeply and pulled a ragged paperback from under her pillow, flipping it open three-quarters of the way to the end where it was marked with the torn-off corner of a piece of notebook paper. Agatha Christie wasn't her usual genre, but it had been one of the shortest books in Jane's moderate collection of novels. Her eyes scanned the lines, but her mind wasn't on the words and by the time she'd finished the third page she realized she had no idea what she'd just read. She flipped back to the beginning of the chapter and tried to concentrate on who exactly was killing all the guests on Soldier Island.

Six pages later, she paused to rest her head back against the wall. As her eyes closed and sleep found her, the book slipped from her hands.

* * *

It was full night in the Blue Ridge Mountains, but for Enos sleep came late if at all these days, and he'd wandered from the cabin to the grassy rise behind the homestead. Before him the land fell away, sloping steeply down into the valley far below where a river glittered like a silver snake in the moonlight. Above him the stars shone like fiery diamonds against a canvas of black velvet. But it was not the beauty of the night that was on Enos' mind.

In truth, he had tried to think as little as possible over the previous two weeks since they had made Jack Cole and his wife's acquaintance. Thinking hurt like hell. Like sand scrubbing against a wound he could not reach, so far down inside of him that it made him want to scream. And, despite Jack's assurances that he was making out with the better half of their deal in free labor, he felt like a beggar.

His fingers brushed the dark grass beside him, then dug down into the earth. He pulled up a handful of soil and rubbed it between his fingers, then brought it up to his face and breathed deeply of it's scent. Most people would tell you that it reminded them of spring – of planting and new life. He supposed he'd even given that answer himself before - given it because it was the answer people _expected_ to hear.

But the truth was, he hated the smell. It reminded him that he was only one generation removed from the hills it came from. Everything had changed with his father's deathe and he'd spent his adolescence trying to escape them and his adulthood trying to ignore them, but in the end they'd swallowed him up again. The Strates, like the Dukes, had fought the system...until he'd become a cop. He was the last of the family name; the single son of a father whose older brother had died before he'd had a chance to carry it on himself. His father had wanted something better for him, but his name would die with him, disgraced.

He stared out across the darkness, across that unfathomable distance which in itself was not so far away from Hazzard County, only about fifty miles. They were coming for him – he could almost feel their eyes watching him, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before someone tipped them off. Perhaps the man reading the meter, or a boy delivering the morning paper, or someone recognizing Daisy as they drove past and she was helping June in the flower garden by the road.

When they caught him, would they would _kill_ him? He thought chances were good that, even if he was unarmed, someone might get an itchy trigger finger.

One of the guys down in the hole at Fulton had been shot. It was peaceful, he'd said, at least after the initial pain had passed by - like you just wanted to float up into space. Enos thought he could do with a little peace himself. He didn't want to die, but if it came down to that, he reckoned he would rather be staring up at the sky than strapped to old Sparky.

The low breathy whistle of a freight train drifted through the night, interrupting his grim thoughts. The tracks ran parallel to the river below and curved sharply to his right as they skirted the bottom of the ridge. He felt a ripple of the old, childlike excitement for the train, coming from somewhere far away on it's way into the wild unknown, passing through dark and sleepy towns without anyone the wiser. And for a moment he wished he was on it, leaving behind the shattered memories of the only life he'd ever known.

His hand unconsciously rubbed at his shoulder – at a phantom pain that was still fresher in his mind than the physical scars.

The whistle blew again, much closer now. A ray of light burst out over the valley, and Enos could hear the steady _clip-clip...clip-clip...clip-clip_ of the wheels on the rail as the train edged around the corner. The cars themselves were lost in the darkness, but he could gauge its speed from the light passing by below him. It went slowly, carefully navigating the sharp curve, then the engine passed on beyond him to the north leaving only the invisible sounds in the night.

He waited until it was gone completely, then turned on his flashlight and walked back to the cabin.

The light danced over the narrow path and Enos kept the beam trained just beyond his feet, not wanting to see the glowing eyes of animals hiding in the forest. The woods seemed to press in around him, like a writhing, living thing that might swallow him alive. He went quickly, like a young child with night terrors running to the safety of his parents' bedroom.

The door squeaked softly as he entered the cabin. The glow of the night lights lit it almost as well as the oil lamp would have, and the soft amber light was comforting. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, letting his heart return to its normal rate and his eyes adjust. He stripped off his flannel shirt and the t-shirt underneath it, tossing them over the back of the couch and grabbed the undershirt from his bag which Daisy had washed for him the day before and pulled it on. After two weeks of good food and the physical labor of building the barn, it no longer hung off of him like a scarecrow.

He almost didn't see Daisy, propped up asleep with her back against a pillow, leaning precariously towards the edge of the bed and the hard floor below her. He crossed over to what he considered her half of their room.

"Ding dang it, Daisy," he murmured, softly.

A ratty paperback was lying on the quilt in front of her, upside down to mark the page. He picked it up, closed it, and put it away. He turned back to her and hesitated, unsure of what to do. If he left her like this, she was going to fall off the bed and crack her head on the nightstand.

_But...but..._

But helping her meant _touching_ her. His heart skipped a beat at the thought and his hands suddenly felt cold and clammy. Maybe he could just wake her, tell her to go to bed. Maybe she wouldn't even wake up enough to remember it in the morning. But _he_ would remember it...if he had to touch her.

He was still debating what to do when Daisy shifted in her sleep. Without thinking, he caught her in his arms as she tumbled off the bed.

Her eyes fluttered open and she startled, disoriented.

"It's okay," he whispered, "Daisy...hey...it's alright, you fell off th' bed, hun."

He tried not to notice the warmth of her body, or the smell of her hair, or the way she fit perfectly against him in his arms. Something inside of him stirred, a feeling that had no place among the darkness and fear he'd become accustomed to and comfortable with.

She raised her head and looked up at him and for a moment he was lost in her hazel eyes. In an instant of clarity, so rare amongst the confusion he lived in, he understood that he could end it here, all the bitterness and anger and loneliness and longing. He could kiss her and let her win, even if it was pity more than love that she wished to give him.

Daisy, who hadn't known what to think when she'd woken up in Enos' arms, watched his eyes shift from hers downward and for an instant frozen in time, she believed he was going to kiss her. Her breath caught as she felt his heart racing beneath her where her hand rested against his chest. She thought back to that day in the Hazzard Courtroom, when he had at last shown her how he felt without hesitation. She wanted to feel that passion again, to feel his mouth on hers, his hands on her. All her life, physical love had always been a game, but this wanting was no trifle. It was deep and true, almost painful, an aching longing inside of her soul.

Unconsciously her hand slid up his shoulder to rest on the back of his neck. But her touch broke the spell and she nearly cried aloud in anguish as his eyes hardened and he stood up, dumping her gracelessly back onto the bed.

"You oughta not read so late," he snapped. "I can't sit an' wait till you fall off the bed every night. Go to sleep."

He went back to the couch and without another word, lay down and pulled the quilt over him, turning his back to her. If he heard her crying softly, he showed no sign, but light was staining the sky before sleep found him and in his dreams the night had ended differently.

* * *

March was nearly over, and the days had begun to get longer and the weather warmer - almost _hot_, in fact, thought Enos as he bent over one of the dozen roof trusses he and Jack were nailing together. The silence between them was companionable, broken only by short requests for more nails or another joint plate. The weight of the hammer felt good in his hand as he pounded home the nails.

As lifting his barbells had once helped him forget the world around him, so too he found that the physical labor of helping Jack with the barn was cathartic. It kept unsettling thoughts at bay, at least for a while, and it was the only time he felt close to what he had once considered normal.

The radio played quietly from a nearby stump, a long orange extension cord snaking from behind it and up to an outlet on the side of the house. It was a staple of Jack's morning routine and was usually tuned to a Big-band and Jazz station out of Dalton, belting out popular tunes from the 20's, 30's, and 40's. Most of the time Enos didn't mind, he liked Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller, but some of the jazz compositions seemed to go on and on and on until he felt like giving the radio a stout whack with his hammer.

They had just finished the swing version of "_When You and I Were Young, Maggie_," which he didn't care for. Singing such a danged depressing song so cheerfully just seemed wrong, nor did he care for the memories of his own childhood the lyrics dredged up.

_"That was Will Bradley and his Orchestra,"_ the DJ announced, _"along with the beautiful voice of Miss Billie Joyce. Now folks, if you're up and around this fine morning, why don't you stop down at Barrett's Flower Shop, family owned since 1925? Fast and affordable, that's Barrett's Flowers!  
"Alright," he continued, his voice more serious, "let's take a look at the news off the wire. NASA says they are beginning to piece together the wreckage of Space Shuttle Challenger which disintegrated shortly after take-off on January 28th, killing all seven astronauts aboard including teacher, Christa McAuliffe. Officials declined to comment amid speculations of mechanical failure and pressure to ground all remaining missions until a more thorough investigation is completed... In state news, the hunt continues for escaped death row inmate, Benjamin Enos Strate and his girlfriend, Daisy M-"_

Jack shut off the radio with a grimace.

"No, wait," said Enos, "...If you wouldn't mind that is. I'd like t' see what they're sayin'."

The man's eyes met his. "You sure?"

He nodded solemnly and Jack flipped the power back on.

_"...a $100,000 reward for any information leading to his arrest and capture. Dr. Raymond Talbot of the Georgia Institute of Behavioral Sciences has recommended that the Georgia Bureau of Investigation examine the possibility that Mr. Strate may have black-mailed Miss Duke into helping him escape and may be holding her against her will." _This was followed by a quote from the doctor explaining that, because the couple had been estranged since childhood as far as anyone could say, the chances of Miss Duke jeopardizing her safety and freedom for him of her own free will was nothing short of ludicrous.

Jack flipped off the radio once more. "What a load of hog-wash! Just 'cause they wouldn't lift a finger to help their own dyin' grandmothers, they think everyone in the world lives on the same terms."

Enos barely heard him.

In his plan to leave after the barn was built, there was a flaw in the picture that he had yet to work out which was, even if he turned himself in, Daisy could still face prosecution for helping him escape. He needed to know that no matter what happened to him, she would be safe and that the GBI wouldn't go after her. The thought of Daisy in prison made him sick - just two years ago Baldwin State had been investigated for a series of unspeakable horrors perpetrated by the male guards against the prison's female inmates, and he'd witnessed first hand the brutality behind the chain-link fences and concertina wire.

...But, what if the GBI thought he'd _coerced_ her?

He picked up his hammer again, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Say, Jack, I don't reckon you'd have some writing paper I could use, would ya'?"

"Why sure, Enos," he answered, "there's a whole mess of it in the drawer by the sink in the kitchen. Help yourself."

* * *

_A/N: If you're not familiar with the song "When You and I Were Young, Maggie", it's from a poem a guy named George W. Johnson wrote to his first wife, Maggie, who died the year after they were married. The poem was set to music in 1866 and is one of those songs that just makes you want to sit down and have a good cry. Check it out on YouTube (I like the version by Tom Roush). _

_The Agatha Christie book is "And Then There Were None"._


	42. Saving Daisy Duke

_The torment of precautions often exceeds the dangers to be avoided. It is sometimes better to abandon one's self to destiny. _  
~Napoleon Bonaparte

* * *

The first week of April came quietly with none of the storms of early March, and even Enos couldn't help whistling a nameless tune as he strolled up the hill towards the house. His heart had been lighter the last two days, ever since he'd begun to put his plan to protect Daisy in motion.

He took the back steps two at a time up to the screen porch off the kitchen and opened the door. The savory smell of meat roasting in the oven with vegetables rolled over him as he entered the sunlit kitchen and he grinned, thinking that they should make air freshers that smelled this good.

"Mornin' Mrs. Janey," he called to the woman washing dishes in the sink.

She turned and flashed him a bright smile. "Mornin'? You're a little late," she laughed, "it's nearly ten! Did you sleep well?"

"Yes ma'am, I did." And it was true. Ever since he'd written the letters, he'd slept through the night.

She surveyed him with a mother's critical eye. "I can tell. You look better, sweetie. More color in your cheeks."

"I reckon it's just sunburn," he answered, but he flushed all the same.

"Before I forget, would you mind taking some coffee down to Jack? He's down in the basement."

"I wondered why he wasn't waiting for me at the barn."

"Oh, you know... you can take the hobo out of the train, but you can't take the train out of the hobo, I suppose. He gets to waxing nostalgic sometimes and then he disappears down in his cave for a few days. Won't hardly remember to eat."

Enos frowned. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," she assured him. "It's good for him. I'd rather have him down there playing with his toys than running around the rail-yard trying to catch trains at _his_ age." She took a mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee from the pot on the stove. "Here, if you wouldn't mind. He wanted me to send you down anyway when I saw you." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "You're about to learn more about trains than you ever wanted to know."

* * *

Daisy took a last swipe at the table with her dishrag and then draped it over the side of the counter before filling the sink with clean hot water. Because neither one of them had many clothes between them, she had been doing the wash every other day, trying to keep at least one pair of clean clothes for both of them just in case. She'd set a basket in the bathroom, but as she emptied it onto the floor of the kitchen, she noted that the only thing of Enos' was a pair of boxers and his second pair of jeans.

She rolled her eyes, wondering what the problem was that men couldn't figure out how to put their dirty clothes in the right place. At least he'd been in a better mood the last two days. He'd slept better, too, and had even gone to bed before midnight last night. She hoped perhaps the worst was over.

She gathered up the two t-shirts and the flannel shirt that were draped over the back of the couch, then knelt and unzipped his backpack to check for more. Not finding any clothes, she was about to close it back up when she noticed an envelope stuck against the inside panel. She pulled it out and stared at it, not understanding why he would have a letter addressed to Dr. Charles Applby of Hazzard , Georgia.

It was unsealed and so, curious, she sat down on the couch and opened it. Inside was a letter and a second envelope, also unsealed. Setting it aside, she read the letter.

_Doctor Appleby,_

_Sir, I know you don't owe me any favors, but this isn't for me, it's for Daisy. Enclosed is a letter which will hopefully keep her safe from going to prison for what she did for me. If you would see to it that it gets into Jesse Duke's hands, I will be forever in your debt. _

_-Enos Strate_

Her heart pounded as a cold knot of fear settled into the pit of her stomach. What _was_ this? Her eyes drifted to the second envelope resting beside her on the couch. With trembling hands, she picked it up.

* * *

Enos took the steaming cup down the narrow flight of stairs that Jane pointed out to him at the end of the hallway, wondering what could be in a basement that could capture Jack's unyielding attention. He was not disappointed.

The the bottom of the stairs, the room opened up into a finished basement, brightly lit by long rows of florescent lights banked into the drop ceiling. Homemade wooden shelves ringed all four walls, spaced together tightly with only a few inches between each level. Each was filled with model train cars of every color, shape, and size so that the walls themselves were invisible. Most of the room's floorspace was taken up by an immense model railroad, raised up to waist height and laid out with mountains, trees, bridges, towns, people, and everything else Enos could envision a train passing by or through.

He stood gaping at the monstrous collection which seemed to go on and on and on, nearly dropping the cup of coffee, and only just managed to keep from slopping it.

"Possum on a gumbush..."

Jack, who had been sitting at a desk on the far side of the room laughed, but didn't turn around. "I hope that woman sent you with my coffee."

Enos scooted past the railroad table and made his way across to him. "Yes sir, I've got it right here." He sat it on the desk, out of the way. "This is really something!"

He watched as Jack carefully finished painting the railing on the back of a small caboose which he held under a round, lighted magnifying glass.

"Jane'd beg to differ," Jack said, amiably, "she says its a room of toys that like to collect dust." He put the car down and turned off the magnifier. "But, I reckon she'd rather see me down here than hopping freight trains again."

"So...you still would, if if weren't for your knee?"

Jack regarded him solemnly and Enos thought could see a trace of longing in the man's eyes. "I don't know, Enos. I guess I'd stick around here, but it'd be for Janey." He turned away and picked up another rail car that sat on the desk. "I guess I'd do just about anything for that woman. You understand about that...when you love someone."

"Yes sir," he whispered. He did understand, all too clearly.

* * *

There were two sheets of paper inside the second envelope. The first page was addressed to her family.

_Dear Dukes,_

_Please forgive me for all that's happened. I never meant for any of this, and I never asked Daisy to do what she did. If she hadn't handcuffed me to herself, I would never have gone with her that night in the first place. _

_If I could I would bring her back to you myself, but what she's done has gotten her into more trouble than she could talk her way out of. The other day, a guy on the radio mentioned that I might have blackmailed her into helping me escape. I know there's not a lot of people in Hazzard that would believe that, but maybe with your help we can convince the GBI that it's true. If they think I threatened her, there's a good chance she can avoid being prosecuted. The letter I'm enclosing I hope will save her when she needs it. Fold it up and tell Agent Wilburn that you found it hidden somewhere in her room that they haven't searched. They will find both of our fingerprints on the paper. As soon as she's out of danger, I'll turn myself in. Burn the letter you're reading, don't let anyone else see it._

_-Enos_

She didn't want to read the next page - didn't want to see his glorious plan in action, but like a moth drawn to an electric light she was unable to keep her hands from moving the second page to the front. Her eyes followed his handwriting, and her soul was suddenly there with his – down in his darkness, in the eternal night he lived with.

_Daisy,_

_Don't think you'll be safe from me. Not you or your uncle or either of those stupid hillbilly cousins of yours. You've got one chance to save yourself and your family and that's it. On March 6th, they'll be sending me back to Hazzard for sentencing. I don't care what you have to do or how you have to do it, but you'd better find a way to get me out of here or you're going to get to meet your sweet grasshopper Darcy face to face. Don't even think about going to Rosco or the GBI. There are guys in here who'd be glad to carve you up for a couple packs of cigarettes. But then you always did like the bad ones, didn't you?_

_-Enos_

* * *

Enos moved back over to the train table. "It must've taken you a year to put all this together!"

Jack followed him over. "Well, the table didn't take too long, but I guess you might say it's a work in progress. I get tired of it and strip it all down and start over every once in a while. Then I switch out all the trees and foliage twice a year to match the seasons."

Enos hadn't noticed until he'd mentioned it, but now he saw that every tree was a shade of orange or brown, the fake grass a barren color. The little word in front of him was immersed in winter. Even the houses had patches of cotton snow on them and a tiny ice skater stood on the surface of a blue, plastic pond.

Jack flipped two switches on the control box and the town sprang to life. Tiny lights glowed in the lampposts and windows, the ice skater looped around turning figure eights, and small cars began to move on hidden tracks of their own. As he watched, the crossing guard's red lights began to flash back and forth and its arms lowered across a gray road. From behind the mountain rumbled a miniature CSX freight train, speeding through the village, around the next corner, and through a tunnel in a paper-mache' mountain. It's whistle blew shrilly.

For several minutes they stood and watched as the train made it's rounds, exiting the tunnel to climb around the mountains then down the other end of the table where the track ran along a shoreline beside a stretch of blue which might have been an imaginary ocean.

With a twinge of heartache, Enos realized he'd never actually seen the Atlantic. He'd grown up in Georgia and lived there most of his life, but he'd never made it south to the shore. "How did it start," he asked, "riding trains?"

"Well, I can't say that mine is the _best_ story you'd hear from an old hobo. There's lots of reasons why kids run off, and some of them are pretty good. After the Depression, a lot of boys left home because there just wasn't any other way for them to survive. Times were hard and most of them had fuller stomachs dinging than they ever had at home."

"Dinging?"

"Panhandling."

"Oh."

"Can't say that about myself, though." He shut the switches off and the train came to a silent stop and the lights went off in the little town. "My daddy was the sheriff down in Hancock County, Georgia. Everybody down that way was pretty piss poor even in the good years, but we were doing okay, scraping by at least.

"Then in the spring of '32, my younger brother, Frank, died of diphtheria. Momma took it pretty hard, of course. I guess looking back, we all did. Frankie was nine, four years younger than me, and then there was the baby, Luanne.

"I never saw my father shed a tear for Frankie," he continued, "but he changed. Something in him got hard, like cold steel, and things that he'd overlooked before would would make him mad as hell. The people there were poor as dirt, mostly moonshiners, but my pop had always turned a blind eye on it, just so they weren't hurting no one. But that changed, too. It was like he was out to get everyone. To...I don't know...make them feel that same loss that he felt, I guess. Truth was, I got to where I was plum scared of him. He'd never been rough with us kids, but his words could cut just as sharp as any knife – at least to a thirteen year old boy.

"I can't remember where the idea first came from to run away, but that next spring I said good-bye to my mother and hopped the train pulling off of the siding at Sparta. Looking back now, I can say that I was just a kid who didn't understand the way the world worked, but the trains...they get in your blood after a while. Every time I went back home, I'd feel that call to leave again. Then one day, my father told me that I was a disgrace to him and that if I ever showed up in Hancock County again, he'd lock me up. I was fifteen the last time I saw my mother and my little sister."

Enos looked down, his fingers worrying with the edge of the table. "I'm real sorry, sir. If I'd of known, I wouldn't've asked."

Jack shook his head. "I wouldn't change anything now, even if I could. The good Lord sometimes works in ways we don't understand. Just like Joseph saving all them starving folks after his brothers sold him into slavery. If I hadn't hopped that first train, I would have never met Janey, and all this-" he gestured around them, "might never have been. Now, I expect the next question you've got is why I stopped riding in the first place."

"Shucks, I already know about your knee. Janey told me you can't-"

"Janey told you what I told _her_."

"I don't...I don't get it."

"When the war broke out, I joined up," he said. "I didn't have anything better to do, and a bunch of us hobos figured being in the Army and getting three square meals a day, plus pay, sounded like a pretty good deal. I got in with the 1st Infantry Division as a mechanic. They shipped us off to England, then down to North-Africa and Sicily then back up to England for more training before they sent us to Normandy."

"Normandy? So... you were..." He wasn't sure how to ask about such a thing. He remembered hearing his father talk about D-Day and how those men had been true heroes.

"I lost my two best friends that day," he said, sadly. "Watched one of them fall with my own eyes. I couldn't understand why God had taken them and not me. They had families who loved them, girlfriends back home, lives that were waiting for them to live them. When they sent us home, I didn't have anywhere to go, so I started riding trains again...only this time I didn't care if I lived or died, and I spent so much time drunk I don't even remember much about the years after that. Eventually I pulled myself together enough to get by, but if my foot hadn't of slipped when I was catching out that morning in 1955, I probably wouldn't be here today. "

"That's when you met Jane," finished Enos, having heard that part of the story from Daisy.

"Uh hmm. She was a nurse in the hospital they dragged me into down in Blue Ridge. She'd be the first to admit I wasn't exactly a gentleman. I'd been living too long with a dark hole inside of me to care about anyone else. Thing was, she wouldn't let it go. Wanted me to talk about my past, and actually wanted to listen. But it was a long time before I finally told her what had happened in the war.

"She asked me to stay in Blue Ridge, but I'd already made up my mind to go. I caught out of Blue Ridge on a Tuesday morning and settled down on the back of a grainer headed to Lexington. I was halfway there when I found the note she'd left for me inside my bag.

"It simply stated that I might find it helpful to write a letter to the two friends I'd lost at Normandy. And, after I wrote to them, if I would write a letter to her, too, so she could remember me. I thought it was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard of in my life, writing a letter to two dead guys, but the train was slow and I needed something to do to pass the time." He gave Enos a knowing look. "Let me tell you, writing those two letters turned out to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. It was like seeing them die all over again. I finally got through them and started the one to Janey. I sat there, staring at her name on the top of that page for two or three hours before I realized I couldn't do it. I could travel the world and see all it had to show me, but I knew I'd never find someone like her again. At Lexington, I hopped a train and went back to Blue Ridge."

He smiled slightly, his eyes far away. "I'm not sure what it was about her that made me love her so much. Maybe it was because she was the only person who'd never given up on me, even though I did everything I could to push her away." He focused his attention back on Enos. "She reminds me of someone else I know."

Enos frowned at the insinuation. "I reckon I know what I'm supposed to say, sir, but the fact is you were never running from people who wanted you dead. You could go back to Jane 'cause her life wasn't in danger. I ain't got no right to be with Daisy, and she shouldn't of done what she did in the first place."

"Daisy made a choice of her own free will, and I'm willing to bet she knew the consequences when she made it. Obviously she thought you were worth it."

He flushed, uncomfortable talking about himself and Daisy to someone who seemed to have a little too much insight into his soul. "She feels sorry for me, that's all. Besides," he argued, "I'm a killer. If I'd done my duty that night out at the ridge, Darcy'd still be alive. I might as well have done what they say I did. I ain't got nothin' to offer her. The state finds me, they're gonna kill me anyway."

"Son, I've seen plenty of pickpockets and robbers in my life and even my share of murdering bastards. But if I hadn't known you from Adam, I'd of still known you weren't no murderer. A man gets a look in his eyes after he's killed someone that never goes away. You ain't got that look, son. You look scared, and I don't fault you for that, but the time's gotta come when you make a choice to start living, 'cause the truth of it is that we're all just waiting around to die." He straighted some trees on the landscapes hillside. "There's just one question I've got for you, though," he said. "What if it had been Daisy in prison instead of you? Knowing all that you know now, wouldn't you have done the same for her?"

He left a speechless Enos and walked over to the desk, pulled open the top drawer, and rummaged around before pulling out a black leather, pocket sized notebook. He returned and handed it out to Enos. "Here, while I'm thinking about it, I want you to have this. Maybe it'll take your mind off of things for a while."

Enos took the small book and opened it up. Each page was covered with tiny cramped writing and small diagrams that looked like rudimentary road maps. "What is it?"

"Every hobo has his own little black book," he explained. "That there's the train schedules and catching on points for every station I've been to, along with anything else that might be helpful. I never did have the best memory, and that thing saved my neck more than once."

"Shucks, I don't know what to say, sir. This has got to mean a lot to you, I can't take it." He held it back out to the man.

Jack shook his head. "What am I gonna do with it? Leave Janey and go hoppin' trains at my age?" He laughed. "Maybe it'll come in handy someday. Just don't lose it."

"I won't sir. Thank you." He slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. Hoping to change the subject, he turned back to the train set. "So, you rode boxcars, right?"

"Well, if I could find one unlocked, I did" he said, "but most of the time I'd ride grainers...grain cars." He picked up a model railcar which looked familiar to Enos, something he'd seen a hundred times on every train that had ever passed him, with it's rounded sides and railings on the front and back. "On most of them, there's a fairly wide porch on the back where you can stretch out, and lots of them have a cut out part behind the porch where you can get inside, under where the grain is stored. We used to call those "Cadillac Grainers" 'cause it was just about as nice as riding in a Cadillac...at least as far as we was concerned, and none of the yard bulls could see you from there."

"So, when you catch a train, what'd'ya do," asked Enos, "just run up beside it an' jump on?"

Jack looked at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "Boy, have you gotta lot to learn..."


	43. Love and Duty

_A/N: Thanks to Enos'sGal for sending me the song lyrics for this chapter. You're right, that song is perfect!_

* * *

_"...Heart, don't fall now -_  
_ if you do I might never bring you back around._  
_Heart take it slow, _  
_don't let her know _  
_ just how much we really need her now."_  
-Sawyer Brown

* * *

It was after one o'clock when Enos finally left Jack's basement. Jane met him at the top of the stairs, worried about Daisy who hadn't shown up for lunch. Enos assured her that she had seemed fine when he'd left that morning and had probably just gotten sidetracked by something, but that he'd go back to the cabin and check on her.

As he wandered down the hill behind the house, Jack's question was still on his mind. If it had been Daisy in prison, what _would_ he have done? He pictured her behind the other side of that plexi-glass wall, and got as far as imagining the bruises on her face before he had to stop.

Before all this mess, he probably wouldn't have given any serious thought to busting anyone, even Daisy, out of jail. He'd always counted on justice to prevail in the end...but he was not the same man he'd been a year ago. The things he'd seen, the violence he'd endured, could never be undone, and he would do anything to keep Daisy from going to prison.

Once, he had drawn a line between love and duty - but he understood now that love _was_ his duty. He loved her, and therefore it was his duty to protect her. In truth, it had been what had drawn him to becoming a deputy in Hazzard in the first place. The idea that she would always need him in some capacity or another – no matter whose bed she slept in.

_"But you wanted both,"_ a voice inside him whispered.

He quashed it and stomped on towards the trail, his thoughts continuing on, imagining himself breaking her out of prison. He doubted he would had done as good a job of it as she had. In all honesty, he couldn't fault the way she'd gone about it, and he wished...

"I wish I could just run away with her," he muttered, and then sighed, knowing he couldn't. That wasn't part of the plan.

He climbed the stairs to the cabin, noting that the wash on the line outside was hung askew, and frowned. Daisy had always been a great stickler for hanging wash properly, even when they were kids. Maybe she ___wasn't _feeling well.

* * *

Daisy had spent the morning doing her chores by rote, her mind going over and over the letters she'd found in Enos' pack. She'd stopped several times to go back to read them again – her emotions shuffling between grief over how Enos was surgically gutting his reputation to try and save her own and burning fury that he would dare to go behind her back and treat her like some foolish child who had no idea what she'd done.

In her more calm and lucid moments, she planned out what to say to him. They'd sit down, calmly like the adults they were, and figure out what to do together. But her good intentions dissolved into a torrent of angry tears when he walked into the cabin and tossed his flannel shirt over the back of the couch.

He turned around - and then stumbled back from her as she slapped him hard.

"Enos Strate!" she screamed. "You've got some nerve waltzing back in here after what you did!"

His hand rubbed at his cheek where a angry red mark was forming. "Good grief, Daisy! What in the world's gotten into you?"

"_Me_? You'd better start explainin' _yourself_ right now, mister, 'cause I swear, I've had just about all I can take this morning!"

"Explain _what_?" he demanded. "What in th' blue blazes are you talkin' about?"

"What is_ this_?" She picked up the envelope from the table and brandished it at him. "You'd better tell me this is a joke!"

His jaw clenched as he realized what she'd found, and he snatched the letter out of her hands and slammed it back down on the table before she could tear it up. "You know what?" he countered, "maybe you oughta mind your own dang business instead of poking through stuff that doesn't belong to you!"

"When were you gonna tell me? After you'd _left_ me? I don't need you takin' care of me!"

She raised her hand up to slap him again, but he caught her wrist and pushed her back, pinning her against the wall. His eyes, no longer dull and lifeless, burned with fiery anger. "There ain't no way I'm lettin' you go to prison!" He said, his breath brushing her cheek. "So help me, Daisy, not for anyone and especially not for _me_!"

A crimson blush stole across her cheeks and he finally noticed how he was leaning against her. "You don't understand!" he complained. He pushed back from her, turned around and walked towards the door.

"Don't you _dare_ run off again!" she shouted. "You're right, Enos, I _don't_ understand! I don't understand 'cause you never _talk_ to me! Make me understand!"

In frustration, he beat against the door with his closed fists, shaking it on its hinges. A pot, hanging on the wall in the kitchen, fell and clattered noisily to the floor. He rested his forehead against the wood and roared in anger. "_Why_?" he cried, his voice muffled between himself and the door. "Why in all that's holy would you want to hear about _that_?!'"

"Because!" She panicked, searching for a good answer to his question, "Because I care about you! A lot!" _Nice_, she told herself, _he finally wants to talk and all you can think of is a cliché._

"I ain't a stray puppy, Daisy!"

"Please, Enos, just _talk _to me!"

He turned around and leaned heavily against the door, running a hand through hair that had grown out just enough to be unruly. "Fine," he said, "A _deal_...I'll make you a deal. If you let me send those letters, I'll tell you whatever it is you wanna know."

It was, thought Daisy, the best she was going to get. She knew him well enough to know he'd send the letters anyway, regardless of what she said. "All right, Enos...deal."

They stared at each other across the room for a moment before he spat into his palm. She met him halfway and sealed the old ridge-runner bargain. Instead of letting her hand go, he pulled her closer, his face troubled. "I mean it, Daisy, I have to send them. No shuck and jive, not this time."

"Just tell me what happened to you that day," she said. "At Fulton after the trial."

She led him over to the bed and sat down beside him. He extricated his hand from hers and watched his fingers as they traced the patterns of the stitching in the quilt. "I...I don't rightly know where to start." He was quiet for a long time. So long in fact, that Daisy nearly prompted him again, afraid he was losing his nerve.

"It was early, before breakfast," he said, at last, "and I wouldn't have known it was Tuesday except for the trial had finished up the day before..."

* * *

___October 1, 1985_

___The metallic thumps against the bars of his cell woke him first, but he didn't turn over. He'd been dreaming and good dreams were few and far between in the stir. Some of the guards thought it was fun to wake them in the middle of the night just for kicks, running their batons along the length of the cells as they passed by. If they wanted him bad enough, they'd make sure he was awake. _

___The thumping came again, louder this time, and a voice._

_"____Time to go, Strate." _

___He relaxed, recognizing the voice of Officer Morty Kellogg. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to drop by Enos' cell on his last rounds and if he wasn't in a hurry, he'd even pull up a folding chair and sit and talk for a while. His visits were one of the few things that kept Enos sane. Morty talked to him as though he were still wearing his badge – as though they might be buddies from the Academy, meeting for lunch to catch up on old times._

___For Enos, who sometimes felt as though the world outside might have ceased to exist altogether, he offered a glimpse of the other side and set his bearings back on stable footing. Their conversations had progressed from traffic stops and police procedures to hunting and fishing. Over the last two months, he'd come to consider the guy a true friend._

___Groggily, he sat up on his bed and squinted into the bright light of the hallway. "Possum on a gumbush, sir! I'm awful sorry. Did I miss breakfast again?" With no way to measure time, Enos' routine was based largely around meals. If he missed one, he might go through half the day believing it was still the day before._

_"____No...you didn't miss it. It's only five in the morning. Listen, go on and get your shirt on, we gotta get moving."_

___He thought the man sounded anxious, and Enos' palms began to sweat at the thought of leaving the safety of the SHU. "They're movin' me back to general again, ain't they?" he asked, defeated. _

___This would be the last time, he thought. Sooner or later the gangs would get tired of taking turns beating him up and he'd wind up on the wrong end of a sharpened toothbrush. They had it out for him now, too, ever since he'd taken down the last two fellas who had jumped him in the yard. Word had gotten back around to him that he was a marked man._

___His blood was a rare and priceless commodity. The thought scared him to death._

_"____No," said Kellogg, "not general. You're gettin' transferred out."_

_"____To Jackson? One of the guys mentioned that I'm going to Jackson."_

_"____Yeah...Jackson." Kellogg looked behind him, down the hallway. "Come on, Strate, I ain't got all day. They're waiting for you."_

___Enos threw his shirt over his head and pushed his feet into the slippers. "Should I take anything with me?" He didn't have much, but there were two stamped envelopes and a couple sheets of paper on his shelf, not to mention the photos Daisy had brought him. "I don't wanna lose my pictures, sir. They're awful special to me."_

_"____No, you're fine. I'll make sure all your things get shipped out to you." _

___Enos backed up to the opening in the bars so that Officer Kellogg could put the handcuffs on._

_"____We're not goin' far, I'll cuff you in the front instead."_

___Enos shrugged and complied and Officer Kellogg led him from his cell and down the hallway. The jail was quiet at this hour, breakfast in general population wasn't until six, and most of the cells they passed leaving SHU were inhabited by still and sleeping forms, huddled under their blankets. _

___They went up the wide stairwell which led from solitary to general population Block C. He remembered the first time he'd come here it had reeked of filth and human waste, but time had dulled his senses. He could no longer smell it. Officer Kellogg led them down through the first level of the C Block, past the dining tables, and down an adjacent hallway. _

___But something felt "off" to Enos... If he was being transferred out, wouldn't he have to leave through central booking? They were nowhere near the main wing of the prison and this hallway led only to one place. He could see the double doors at the end, their metal crash-bars gleaming in the stark light of the corridor. _

_His heart drummed against his chest. "____Down here, sir?"_

_"____They're taking a count outside first."_

___He wanted to believe him. All the way to those doors, he prayed that he was wrong. But as they opened onto the stark, gray dawn of the exercise yard, he knew the truth of the matter. Beyond the sidewalk, out where the ragged tufts of grass had withered and died with the ending of summer, four inmates stood waiting in a loose semi-circle...uncuffed...and he knew he'd been set up. _

___He turned back to Officer Kellogg, who was still half in and half out of the double doors. "You sold me out," he whispered, terrified. The shock began to set in, making him shake as though he'd been plunged into an icy sea. "Y-y-you s-sold me out!"_

___Officer Kellogg looked away, and took a step back through the door. Enos could see the shame on his face. "It's nothin' personal, Enos," he insisted. "I just...I've gotta look out for me and mine, ya' know? This is th' way things work in here. I'm real sorry - I am, but I gotta collect before they ship you off to Jackson."_

_"____B-but...they're gonna kill me!" Enos shot a quick look behind him. The four guys were walking towards him, getting closer, and now he saw that one of them carried a long piece of rebar. He held his wrists, still bound together, up to Officer Kellogg. "My hands," he begged, "uncuff me!"_

___Officer Kellogg shook his head and stepped back into the building. "Sorry, that wasn't part of the bargain." The door slammed shut, leaving Enos alone with his attackers. _

___He beat against the door with all his might, screaming for help until the other men were upon him and he was forced to turn and defend himself as best he could._

___They dragged him away from the double doors, and the only clear memory he retained of the rest of that day was of the taste of dirt mixed with blood. _

* * *

"The next thing I knew, it was two days later and I was strapped to a bed staring up at the ceiling, minus my spleen and one kidney," he finished. He waited for Daisy's reaction, afraid she'd go silly with pity over him, but except for the tears which flowed freely down her cheeks, she was outwardly calm. He sighed. "It wasn't the beating that hurt the worst," he said, picking at a loose thread on the quilt.

"I know it." She understood now what that storm was inside him - for Enos to have been betrayed by a fellow police officer had surely shaken the very foundation of his existence. "I'm sorry, Enos. I wish I could take it all back for you."

He smiled, sadly. "I know that. But you see now, Daisy, why I can't take any chances with the GBI. Not with _you_."

Her heart sank because she couldn't compete with this - this lofty pedestal he'd always put her on. She knew she could never talk him out of anything that he thought might save her, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

"But it's not_ fair_," she pleaded. "You never did anything wrong in the first place! You never killed Darcy - and don't give me that hogwash about him being alive if you'd done your duty. You _didn't_ kill him! In that letter, you're practically admitting to it. They'll take it as you're confessing!"

His eyes met hers. "That's what they're _supposed_ to think, Daisy. Even if some of them figure it's just a shuck and jive, in the end they'll take it because they'll have the proof they wanted against me. And I don't care what happens to me as long as you're safe."

"Don't say that!"

"Why not? It's the truth."

"Because _I_ care what happens to you! You don't know what it was like to spend four months thinking you were dead, and from what you've told me, by all rights you _should_ be!"

He gave a rueful laugh. "Oh, them fellas didn't want me to die," he assured her. "They wanted me to stick around long enough so I could appreciate their handiwork."

She felt the cold settle into her stomach once more. "What are you talkin' about?"

He pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it beside him on the bed, and her confusion ended. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes when she saw what they'd done to him. How they'd marked him.

"Oh Enos...oh my gosh..." She shifted her position to kneel behind him on the bed and brushed her trembling fingers across his shoulders, across the letters cut angrily into his skin. Scrawled across his upper back, in six inch tall scars, was the word: P I G .

The shock taxed her strength beyond its limits, and she buried her face against the back of his head and cried. He could feel her tears falling on him, the warm drops sliding down his neck.

"It's alright," he murmured, "it doesn't hurt anymore."

She thought back to the man he'd once been: shy, sweet, naive, and how they had dragged him away from everything he'd known, tossed him in with people who wanted him dead - who had beaten him to within an inch of his life and carved their memory into his body. She hated them and if they stood before her now, she would be happy to kill them herself.

He turned and pulled her across him into his arms, holding her as her body rocked with the force of her sobs, and his own tears felt very close to the surface. "Daisy, don't...don't cry, hun." _ I shouldn't have told her...shouldn't have shown her._ "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

She leaned back and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "I love you, Enos," she cried. "You believe me, don't you? Please, tell me you believe me."

"I..." Did she _truly_? He searched her face and then reminded himself that it didn't matter. "I love you, too, Daisy. You know that."

It wasn't the answer she'd asked for. Did he _believe_ her? Did he fully understand that she couldn't go on without him - that she could no more separate herself from him than she could cut out her heart and keep on living? She ran her hands into his hair, tilted his head up and kissed him. He pulled away - but not quite fast enough to convince her that it wasn't what he wanted.

"Don't Daisy, please..."

"Why not?" she whispered. His words might say one thing, but his eyes were dark with longing. In shame, she thought of all the men she'd given herself to. Men whose names she couldn't recall, and who had probably seen her as nothing more than a whore. "If it's because of...of my past, Enos, I _swear_ I haven't been with...with anyone since they arrested you, not-"

His eyes widened as he realized what she was talking about. "No! Gosh, no, Daisy, it ain't nothin' like that! I don't care about that." He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Daisy, I know you feel like we're safe here, hun, but we're not. Someday, they're gonna find me, and when they do they're gonna kill me. I won't... I wouldn't be able to protect you."

She had no idea what one thing was supposed to do with the other, but she knew when she'd pushed him too far. "Enos Strate, that's the worst excuse I've ever heard," she said, kindly, "but I'm sorry. I'm outta sorts, I guess. I just...I really missed you."

She gave him what she hoped was a light-hearted, playful look and he smiled back at her. "I missed you, too, Daisy...Well, I missed everyone, but I really missed you...too...too much." He blushed, flustered. "_More_, I mean. I missed you the most."

She grinned and wiped away the last traces of her tears. "You just missed my cooking."

He grabbed his shirt and pulled it back over his head. "That's probably it," he agreed. "Although their meatloaf was on par with yours."

"I thought you said all the food in prison was nasty."

"It was."

She whacked him on the shoulder for his jibe and shook her head. "You'd better be nice to me. I help Jane cook your supper, you know."

"Speaking of which, you're in trouble. Janey thinks you're sick or something 'cause you didn't show up for lunch."

Daisy nodded, having expected as much. "I'd better go let her know I'm okay," she said, standing up. "Did you and Jack get a lot done this morning?"

"Not hardly," he answered. The morning seemed very far away after the last hour between them. "He was down in the basement playing with his model trains."

She laughed. "Maybe I'll have to take a peek when I get there."

Enos watched her as she walked out the door, feeling as though something between them had been left unfinished, and in his heart there was a pain worse than anything that had befallen him in prison. He would give anything to make her happy, but she was more of a danger to herself than she knew. If he gave into her - if they were _together_, he would never be able to turn himself in. He would want to stay free and fight to keep her.

Duty had never tasted so bitter.


	44. Thicker Than Blood

___A/N: The Galloway Cemetery mentioned in this chapter really exists, although not quite as old as I've portrayed it. Check out the interactive Google map for S&I (link on my profile) to find it.  
_

* * *

_"...The hills, rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,  
The vales, stretching in pensive quietness between;  
The vernal woods - rivers that move in majesty,  
and the complaining brooks that make the meadows green;  
...Are but the solemn decorations all of the great tomb of man."  
-_From Thanatopsis, William Cullen Bryant_  
_

* * *

Enos stared at the door until Daisy's footsteps faded away and all that remained was the quiet brush of the wind against the cabin. He closed his eyes fell back onto the bed, counting the heartbeats that echoed through the pounding ache in his head. As the minutes ticked by, his breathing slowed and deepened and sleep found him before he even realized he was tired.

* * *

Daisy had left with every intention of seeing Jane and letting her know that she was alright. But the confidence she'd had as she argued with Enos leached from her spirit with each step that took her away from the cabin, and by the time she was to the house she was in no mood to explain her anxieties to anyone. She passed it by and walked instead up to where a trail took off through the woods to the west, near the front of the property.

It was a path she had traveled many times before, the first time out of boredom and because Jane had mentioned that it led to to abandoned graveyard. It had taken a good half hour to get there and she'd almost fallen in the creek walking across the fallen log that spanned it, but it had turned out to be worth the effort. It was as good a place as any to be alone and think, and she had made a habit over the last few weeks to visit it in the early afternoon before Enos and Jack had finished with their work on the barn for the day.

Her feet knew the path now as well as if she were walking the back 40 at the farm, and fifteen minutes later she had hiked to the small clearing at the top of the ridge.

The air was cool under the thick canopy of trees which shadowed most of the cemetery, pervaded by a dank smell of earth and decaying leaves. A thick carpet of moss blanketed the bases of the crumbling stones and crawled over the roots of the trees nearby, choking out any grass which might have otherwise dared to spout there. The oldest markers jutted from the ground at odd angles, moved over time by the shifting of the mountain. Like an old man's teeth, broken and crooked.

Her favorite spot was at the Southeastern corner over-looking the valley where a singular monument stood beyond the tree-line, its bleached marble gleaming white in the sun. On the far side of it was a ledge about 10 feet wide and beyond that a straight drop-off into the valley.

She wove slowly past the other stones, her hands brushing the tops as she read the names that were now familiar to her. Most were of the Galloway family, for whom the plot was named. Others were blank, their words etched away by generations of wind and rain. It had always given her a peculiar and eerie feeling to think of the people who lay beneath indecipherable stones, forgotten in the passage of time without even a name to mark their memory.

It made her think of her own mother and father who had died on a bootlegging run when she was just a baby (too young to remember anything of them), driving down the side of a nameless mountain somewhere in the hills of North Carolina on a cold, black, rainy night. She had never been told, but she could envision the inky blackness of the storm and the steep hairpin turns lit only by the dim headlights of their pick-up.

It was comforting to imagine that they'd never seen the wash-out, and that they had died before they'd had a chance to be afraid. Better by far than the thought of them drowning slowly as the cab filled with water, clinging to each other in the darkness and thinking of their infant daughter who would not remember them. The police found their truck six miles downstream of the ruined bridge, but their bodies had been swept away in the raging Hiawassee River.

She sat down on the far side of the monument and leaned back against the stone. The warmth of the sun-baked rock seeped through the fabric of her shirt and she stretched her jean-clad legs out in front of her. Before her spread the Toccoa Valley and the Ocoee River, green and lazy, like a fat snake twisting through the trees. And somewhere beyond that was Hazzard County.

Thoughts of Hazzard and her family sprang to mind before she could stop them; of Bo who was probably worrying himself sick without a plan to find her, of Luke who was probably thinking up some way to do just that, and of Uncle Jesse...

She closed her eyes against the tears, seeing his face and remembering every time he'd been there to comfort her or to watch over her during the last thirty years. She'd broken his heart - there was no denying it to anyone and least of all herself. Wasn't it her who had fought tooth and nail with the boys over their decision to leave Hazzard to go and race? And yet, she herself had left him without a word or a letter, not even daring a last hug that morning for fear she would cry and blow her cover.

Given a second chance, she wouldn't take back what she had done for Enos – not for all the world, but going it alone was hard. She needed him _with_ her, not fighting _against_ her. Despite the brave face she put on around him and Jack and Jane, she wasn't as strong as she pretended to be.

With no one but the dead to hear her, Daisy sat on a hill far from home and wept loud and bitter tears for everything she'd lost and left behind.

* * *

The sun traced through the sky until the light from the window fell over the bed and Enos sat up, disoriented, to find that it was nearly an hour later. His head still ached, but the dull throbbing had focused its efforts into a sharp spike of pain behind his right eye.

He wandered into the small bathroom and pulled back the mirror above the sink. Inside, there were two narrow glass shelves. On the top one lay a crumpled tube of toothpaste and two toothbrushes. The second contained a package of disposable razors, a can of shaving cream, and a bottle of aspirin.

He shook two of the aspirin into his palm and set the bottle back in it's place, then tossed the pills in his mouth before he noticed Daisy had removed the water glass from beside the sink. She'd griped at him for leaving it there...something about germs and putting it in the kitchen. It had spawned an argument in which he contended he'd been doing it that way for twenty years and it hadn't killed him yet.

Grimacing at the bitter taste of the medicine, he turned on the faucet and drank from his cupped hands instead.

As he shut the mirror, his eyes caught his own reflection and he stopped transfixed at the face of a man he wasn't altogether sure he knew anymore. He frowned at the dark smudges beneath his eyes, an expression that only seemed to make him look worse.

_Older._

Gosh, he looked like...his _dad._

"I reckon you got yourself into a good mess this time," he whispered, watching his own lips form the words.

His fingers traced the red mark on his cheek, already faded, where Daisy had slapped him and he closed his eyes, remembering not her anger but the look in her eyes and the passion in her voice when she'd told him she loved him. She had said it as if she had _needed_ him to believe her, and he'd been so close to throwing it all away – to saying the heck with it and damning them both.

He thought she might have known it, too, that she might have seen it in his eyes. She'd always been able to read him better than anyone. If he could only manage to keep his distance, everything would be easier.

"Might as well ask me to grow purple horns and stand on my head," he muttered to no one.

He flipped off the light and went back into the kitchen. The envelope with it's letters lay forgotten on the table. He picked it up, sealed the letter to Uncle Jesse inside and then the outer envelope with the letter to Doc Applby and stuck it in the pocket of his backpack beside the couch.

Matt was making a shine run up to Knoxville, Tennessee, tomorrow night and he would take it and drop it at the post office up there to throw the GBI off their trail, just in case something went wrong with the letter in Hazzard. Still, it made him nervous. Hazzard was small enough for the GBI to scout all the mail that came through the post office, not just to the Duke farm, and if something suspicious came up they'd have a search warrant to open it before it ever got to where it was going.

He told himself he wouldn't think about that right now. What he really needed was some fresh air and long walk. He left the cabin and went up the hill towards the house, determined to put the morning out of his mind.

It was a beautifully clear spring day, the kind that he was always seeing on calendars and postcards. The sky stretched across the horizon in an ocean of azure blue without a cloud to be seen. It was already hot, but the ridge was high enough that it caught the breeze that swept down from the Appalachians.

As he passed the house, Jane opened the door and called to him. He took a deep breath before turning around, knowing that Daisy would be in the kitchen helping with supper and not sure if he wanted to face her just then. "Yes, ma'am?" he answered.

Jane stood in the open doorway, and even from a distance Enos could see the worry in her eyes. Forgetting his reservations about seeing Daisy, he walked back up to the kitchen steps. "What's wrong?"

"Daisy," she told him. "Did you talk to her when you went back?"

"Yes, ma'am. She's fine," he assured her. "I thought she came back up here a while ago."

Jane shook her head. "I saw her heading up towards the graveyard, but she didn't stop here first. Looked like she'd been havin' a bad day." She turned a suspicious eye on him. "You two ain't been fussin', have you?"

Enos felt his cheeks burn and slid his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. "Fussin?" he asked, innocently.

To his consternation she lay a soft hand against his cheek and clucked her tongue at him. "You're a bad liar, sweetie, so don't even try." She took him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the woods. "She went off that a way," she pointed. "Now, go fix whatever it was you broke." Jane gave him a gentle shove and without waiting for any protests he might have made, disappeared back into the house and shut the door.

Enos raked his hand through his hair. "Ding dang it!" he swore, but trudged dutifully towards the break in the woods where the trail to the old graveyard took off. What was he supposed to tell her that hadn't been said an hour before?

* * *

She heard the sounds of rustling leaves when they were still some distance away, but thinking it must be a deer, Daisy ignored them - until a crack of splitting wood echoed through the woods behind her, closely followed by a splash and a great deal of complaining about rotten trees and sharp rocks. She didn't know whether to groan or to laugh. She had no idea what to say to him at the moment and knew Jane must have put him up to finding her. He wasn't usually one to come looking for trouble.

Ten more minutes passed before he finally made it to the top of the ridge, and she heard his footsteps - oddly squishy, moving through the cemetery. She sat still, hoping he'd miss her and leave, but he seemed to know instinctively where she was and seconds later he plopped down next to her.

He was such a pitiful sight that she laughed until tears once again streamed down her face. He sat patiently - and unamused, and waited for her to stop.

"It ain't funny," he said at last. "That stream is dang cold an' my backside hurts somethin' awful."

"Th' sun's hot, you'll dry," she teased.

He grunted and leaned back against the stone.

Together they sat watching the valley below them, neither in a hurry to talk. A flock of geese flew past them, so close that they could hear the beating of their wings against the air as they made their way northward before the heat of the Georgian summer began. Their squawks echoed across the vale in sharp, staccato bursts that followed them even after they had passed.

There was the sound of a distant chainsaw from somewhere to their right and Daisy thought she could pick out three or four thin ribbons of smoke along the next ridge. It never occurred to her that an outsider seeing them might think first of campfires instead of working stills.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied Enos. A month and more of good food, fresh air and the manual labor of working on the barn had gone a long way towards healing him physically. He was still thin, but no longer gaunt. Not as muscular as when he had been lifting weights on his down-time from the Sheriff's Department, but she could see the definition in his arms and shoulders through the damp t-shirt that clung to him. She grinned at his unruly hair which was still too short for him to slick the cowlicks down.

He scooped up a handful of stones from beside him and chucked them one by one out over the drop-off in front of them.

"You're libel to hit a moonshiner doin' that," she warned. Flashing her a mischievous grin, he found a larger rock and threw it as far as he could. "Jane sent you out to find me, didn't she?"

"She told me to come fix what I broke," he admitted.

Daisy chuckled and rested her head against his shoulder. "You didn't break nothin', Sugar. The State of Georgia did that."

He took a deep breath and rested his head against her own, thinking that somewhere along the way he _had_ broken something. There was a nostalgic feeling between them here, sitting like this in the sun. If he closed his eyes, like so, he could imagine he was twelve again and they were sitting on the bank of Hazzard Pond, chucking rocks into the water and trying to stay out of trouble.

He found himself wondering just when it had become so easy to be with her again. Despite his best efforts to push her away, at times over the past month he'd felt closer to her than he'd felt since they were kids. During Daisy's weekly visits at Fulton, he'd let down his defenses behind the safety of the glass between them, and she'd given him her undivided attention without pretext or flirting. She had been..._different_. She was_ still_ different, and not just how she dressed, though there was that as well. He couldn't put his finger on it, and couldn't describe it in any form except to admit that it drew him continually back to her and their past.

He felt the warmth of her sun-drenched hair against his cheek and prayed to God that somehow he could keep her safe. His thoughts wandered; back to the night she had slapped a set of hand-cuffs on him and dragged him out of Hazzard's Jail, and then on to the mines and the truck and the safehouse. Then..._what_? What had she planned after this?

"What were we gonna do?" he asked, lulled half-asleep by the warm sunshine.

She shifted to look up at him. "Huh?"

He startled and sat up straight, unaware that he'd even spoken aloud. "What?"

"You asked me what we were going to do. When?"

"I...I was just wondering what your plan had been after this," he stammered, fidgeting, "I mean...where were we gonna go after we left Jack's?"

"Oh..." She hesitated, as surprised by his question as he had been by asking it. "Well, Matt says Mexico or Canada aren't too bad if you know where to go."

"We don't speak Mexican."

"Canada it is, then."

He turned and stared at her until she blushed. "I'm not bein' serious, Daisy."

"Well, I am," she said, defiantly. "It's not right what you're planning on doin', giving into those idiots who are looking for you!"

"It ain't about _them_, Daisy."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "So I don't get any say in it?"

"Look," he argued, "I'm not doin' anything until I know they've got that letter, alright? I'd thank ya' to stop complainin' about it."

She bit back a scathing reply. Fighting about it wasn't the way to change his mind. "Alright, I'm sorry." They settled back into a strained silence until she decided maybe the best tactic was to go along with it, at least for now. "So...you're sendin' the letter to Doc Applby instead?"

"They're libel to be checking the mail going to the farm," he explained, "Doc can go visit Uncle Jesse without them getting suspicious. Besides, he's about the only person I know that they probably ain't watching. Matt's gonna send it up in Knoxville instead of here, just in case. That way if the GBI finds the envelope, it'll send them there instead of here."

"You think I could send a postcard that way?"

He shrugged. "You probably could, but wait a week or so. You oughta tell them I'm holding you hostage or somethin'."

"Hmm." She filed away that thought for later. Talking about it had reminded her of something else. "That letter, by the way, the one to me... Just how long have you wanted to say that stuff?"

"What stuff?" he asked, unsure of which letter she meant.

"I always fall for the bad ones?"

He laughed. "Daisy Mae, I swear you never saw a criminal who couldn't sweep you off your feet...Ow!" He rubbed his arm where she'd punched him. "Ding dang, Daisy, I'm just joshin' ya'." He stood up and stretched, then looked back down at her with a gleam in his eyes. "There was at least three or four you missed."

He took off back through the cemetery towards the woods.

"Ooo! Enos Strate!" She shouted and chased after him.


	45. Curve Balls

_"Sometimes the bad and the good blend together.  
An open book is as predictable as the weather.  
And there are no new ways to reinvent this life,  
And there are no instructions on how to make it right."  
_-"Soon Forgotten", Shinedown_  
_

* * *

The Dukes' supper table was quiet, as it was most evenings now. Neither Bo nor Luke had much heart to talk and they had given up weeks ago on finding anything that would take Uncle Jesse's mind off of Daisy and what had happened. The cousins shared concerned look between themselves, glancing in turn at their uncle who pushed his food around his plate without eating.

"Say Luke, this hominy's real good. Dontcha think so, Uncle Jesse?"

"It's fine, Bo," his uncle answered quietly, though he hadn't eaten a bite.

Bo lapsed back into silence, now only picking at the food himself and worrying about Uncle Jesse. His ears picked out the sound of a car coming down Mill Road, listening absently for it to pass. Instead, it slowed and there was a crunch of tires as the car turned down the drive towards the house.

Luke dropped his fork. "Wonder who that could be," he murmured. He got up and went to the kitchen window, and Bo tossed his napkin down on the table and followed.

Outside was a unremarkable brown sedan. "Looks like Doc Appleby," said Bo. He glanced at his cousin, wondering if maybe he had called him earlier to check on Uncle Jesse, but Luke only shrugged.

"Let's go meet him outside. See if he needs any help."

"Good idea, cuz."

Bo shot a last look at his uncle. He was still staring down at his plate, seemingly unaware that they'd even left the table. They stepped out onto the porch just as the doctor shut the car door behind him and walked down to where he was.

"Mornin', Doc," said Luke, "What can we do for ya'?"

"Hey there, Luke. Bo.," he greeted, solemnly. "Your Uncle Jesse around? I need t' talk with him and it's mighty important."

"Uh...well, to be honest with ya', Doc, he ain't been doin' real good lately. Is it something that me and Luke can help you with?"

The white-haired man looked concerned. "He still not eatin?"

"Not enough," Bo answered, "it's been real hard on him, you know. He's makin' himself sick worrying over Daisy. Reckon we all are."

"I'll check on him while I'm here," said the doctor, "but this is something I'm gonna need to talk to him about."

"We'll, come on in," said Luke, "you're more than welcome."

Doc Appleby followed the cousins up to the porch and back into the kitchen. Uncle Jesse got up as they entered. All three noticed how heavily he had to lean on the table.

"Mornin' Doc," said Jesse, "What can we help you with?"

"Is there somewhere we can talk, Jesse? "

"We can talk right here. Ain't nothin' I'm gonna keep from my boys."

Doc nodded. "I suppose that's fine. They might oughta hear it, too."

"Hear what, Doc?" asked Luke. "What's goin' on?"

"Yesterday I got this letter," he said, pulling a folded envelope from the pocket of his white lab coat. "Didn't know what to think of it at first, but I believe that what happened to Enos was a terrible travesty of justice and if I can help him or Daisy out in any way, I'm sure going to do my best."

At the mention of Daisy, Uncle Jesse had turned even paler than before. His knuckles were white where they gripped the back of the chair in front of him. "What are you talkin' about, Thomas?"

"You'd best just read the whole thing," he said, handing it over. "That's the letter to me and then there's a sealed envelope addressed to you."

Uncle Jesse pulled out the sheet of notebook paper and scanned it, recognizing Enos' handwriting immediately.

_Doctor Appleby,_

_Sir, I know you don't owe me any favors, but this isn't for me, it's for Daisy. Enclosed is a letter which will hopefully keep her safe from going to prison for what she did for me. If you would see to it that it gets into Jesse Duke's hands, I will be forever in your debt._

_-Enos Strate_

He handed the letter off to Bo and Luke and with nervous fingers, opened the envelope that read "Jesse Duke" and removed the papers inside. The first one began:

_Dear Dukes,_

_Please forgive me..._

"Uncle Jesse...What is it?" asked Bo, after a while. "What's it say?"

He motioned for them to be quiet as he scanned the letter again before setting it down on the table and reading the second one, the letter addressed to Daisy. Luke snagged the first letter for him and Bo to read.

Finally Uncle Jesse dropped the paper and sat down heavily in the chair, covering his face with shaking hands. Bo ran and knelt beside him. Luke tapped Bo on the shoulder and handed him the second letter to read, and took a seat beside his uncle at the table.

"What're we gonna do, Uncle Jesse?"

Uncle Jesse lowered his hands and stared at Luke with eyes that were red and blood-shot. "I reckon there ain't nothing we can do, 'cept what Enos asked us to."

Bo gaped at his uncle, surprised that he would go along with such a shady scheme. "Uncle Jesse, this letter's full of more lies than a carpetbagger!" He shouted, waving it between them. "There ain't nobody who's gonna believe that Enos would ever say this stuff to Daisy. Heck, if it wasn't in his handwriting, I wouldn't believe it was from him myself."

"No...no... You're right, Bo," said Uncle Jesse, with a thoughtful look on his face. "But we ain't gotta convince anybody who knows him, just the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, and they just might bite on it."

Bo wasn't convinced of it himself, but there was more to it than that. "Well, I don't like it one bit!" he said. "There's gotta be another way. I'm all for helping Daisy out of this pickle, but... well, I guess I feel a little like we're throwing Enos to the wolves. We all know he didn't kill Darcy in the first place, and handing over this here letter means we're selling out an innocent man."

"This is for _Daisy_, Bo!" Luke shot back at him, "She's your_ blood_, and if they catch her they're gonna put her up in the state prison! Why doncha think about _that_ for a while? We get her safe first, then we'll worry about Enos."

Uncle Jesse's eyes caught those of his nephew and for a minute he was reminded of the head-strong little boy who had always taken the responsibility of being the oldest cousin so seriously. That boy had grown up into a man who would do anything for his family, but in the end it didn't matter if it was right or wrong - this wasn't his battle to fight.

He turned back to Bo. "I know how you're feelin', Bo, and you're right to feel that way. But this ain't my plan or your plan, this is _Enos'_ plan. I've stayed up nights prayin' that God would let me see a way to save my girl, but I've come up with nothing. Not until I read this here letter from Enos. If he's found a way to keep her safe - even if it means givin' himself up, well...I reckon he oughta be the one to have the say in it."

Inwardly, he wished he believed his own words, but the voice in the back of his mind spoke no comfort to him. In his heart he knew it was dishonest and selfish and cowardly to sell Enos out. But, God forgive him, he was only human and if Enos wanted to give himself up for Daisy, he would go along with him to save her. He picked up all the letters and envelopes, except the one addressed to Daisy and went over to the wood stove, opened the door and threw them in.

"But...Uncle Jesse!"

He ignored Bo and turned instead to Luke. "Luke, call Agent Wilburn. Tell him we found a letter."

"Yes sir, Uncle Jesse."

* * *

Daisy woke in semi-darkness. She thought it was still night until her eyes adjusted, and she saw that the dimness was due not to the early hour, but to the sky which hung low with dark clouds outside the window. The rain pelted down upon the tin roof of the cabin; a steady, rhythmic clatter, like a thousand tiny bee-bee's. A gust of wind blew against the window, lashing the rain against the glass in long splatters that melded into one another. They ran down to the sill and out of view.

There was a chill breeze in the room and the smell of the rain was thick in the air. She rolled over and saw that Enos was sitting in the open doorway, his back against the frame, watching the rain.

She rolled out of bed and bundled the top quilt around her for warmth as she made her way quietly through the living room. She sat down across from him, leaning against the opposite side of the door frame. He glanced at her and smiled slightly before turning his eyes back to the storm.

The rain grew heavier and the room behind them plunged deeper into darkness, lit only by occasional flashes of lightning. The porch protected them from the downpour, but the wind blew a fine mist of rain against them and Daisy hugged the quilt closer around her. Enos' eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful and happy. She sighed, thinking the only thing that would be nicer would be sitting next to him so that she could lay her head against his warm shoulder.

"Do you hear it?" he asked, softly, his eyes still closed.

She listened as peal of thunder rolled across the sky. "Yeah. It's beautiful, the rain."

There was a long pause and Daisy had almost forgotten what he'd asked when he spoke again.

"I didn't hear the rain for over a year," he said, gazing out beyond the porch. The lightning flashed around them, and a sudden booming thunder made her jump.

"A _year_?"

"The drought was goin' on when they put me in," he explained. "Hadn't rained since March and then you couldn't hear nothin' inside the walls."

The wind blew again, making her shiver. She crawled around to his side of the door. "Scoot over, I'm cold."

"Cold?" he asked, doubtfully. "Laws, Daisy, you've got a quilt and flannel pajamas on." He moved to make room for her beside him.

She laughed. The flannel pajamas had been from a bag that Ginny had left behind when she'd gone to college over ten years before. Jane had foisted them on her after she found out Daisy had been sleeping in her regular clothes every night. She'd apologized for them not being very feminine - Ginny had a particular taste in clothing and pastels weren't part of it, but the flannel pajamas in camouflage had been worth it just to see the look on Enos' face.

"I need you to block the wind."

"Well, I reckon I've gotta be good at _somethin_'," he replied, good-naturedly.

"Um hmm. You're kinda like a rock."

He tried not to grin as he took her bait. "Strong an' silent?"

"No, heavy and dense...Hey!" She laughed as he flicked a handful of rainwater at her and she turned her face into his shoulder to wipe it off against his sleeve.

They were silent then, sitting together and watching the rain as it ebbed and flowed in silver sheets beyond the eaves of the porch. Daisy was thinking of Hazzard and wondering if it was raining there as well. Thinking about the fields that would soon be green and verdant and of Uncle Jesse and her cousins who would have to get through it without her help. So preoccupied was she that she didn't notice that Enos was now watching _her_ instead of the rain, nor did she see him frown as he studied her face.

"Daisy, are you sleepin' alright?" he asked, his voice registering his concern.

She turned to him, thrown off guard by the question. The truth was she hadn't slept well for several nights, but she hadn't said anything about it. In fact, she thought she'd been doing a good job of pushing through the fatigue thanks to a little extra caffeine in the mornings.

"What makes you say that?"

He raised his hand towards her cheek, then thought better of it and lowered it. "Your eyes. They've got real dark circles under them. That and you've been drinking coffee the last three mornings and you hate coffee."

She blushed slightly at having been caught. Sometimes she forgot that he knew her as well as she knew him. She looked away from the worry on his face. "It's nothin'," she insisted. "Just weird dreams is all."

"You wanna tell me about 'em?

She thought about it, thought back to the nightmare that had haunted her for many months now. He wouldn't judge her, even though he was probably the only person she knew who wouldn't. Still, she knew what the dream meant and what it had spawned from and she suspected telling him about it might lead to talking about things she wasn't ready to talk about.

He was still waiting for her answer and, perhaps suspecting some of what she was thinking, added, "It's just a dream, Daisy. It ain't like you can control it."

"I know that, Enos," she said, realizing somewhere along the way their roles had switched. This week had begun with her trying to get _him_ to talk. "It's just...it's embarrassing."

"Embarrassin' like you get to work and you forgot to put on your pants kind of embarrassing? Or...what?"

She shook her head slowly, and listened to herself say, as if it was another person talking, "I'm in this big crowd and I'm trying to get through it and I can't breathe because everybody's so close and people are...are...pulling me back." She stopped and looked back at him, at the confusion in his hazel eyes and felt tears behind her own and a pang of guilt. "No, she whispered, "that's not the truth."

"Daisy," he said, softly, "you ain't gotta talk about it if you don't want to."

She dashed away a tear that escaped. All that she had once wished to be, all those dreams of childhood that they had once shared together, everything had been tainted by what she had _become_. She was so tired of running from the past and every night it chased her in her dreams.

"The people," she began, so quietly that he could barely hear her, "...they're all _men_, fellas who I don't know, an' they're all crowding in around me and I can't find my way out of them and...and I can feel their hands t-touching me and they won't stop. I've had the same dream, over and over, since last summer."

His expression reminded her of a deer caught in headlights and not knowing which way to run. "I'm sorry, Daisy, I shouldn't of-"

"No, Enos,_ I'm_ sorry. It sounds worse than it is, really," she insisted. "I'm used to th' dream, and it's not as vivid as it used to be. It's just that it wakes me up and I've been having trouble getting back to sleep lately. That's all. I didn't mean to worry you."

If her words were supposed to make him feel better about her having nightmares of being assaulted by a crowd of strange men, they didn't, but she cut off anything else he might have said by laying her head back against his shoulder and changing the subject.

"Do you think Uncle Jesse got the letter, yet?"

"Probably," he said, already tired of that subject, "we'll listen to the radio this next week and see if the GBI starts talking about how I've got you chained up in a shack in the mountains." And then, because it felt safe enough with her swaddled in her quilt, he put his arm around her shoulders and rested his head back against the door jam. "You know, every once in a while, I still have that dream about my pa' and the house burning down around him."

"I know. You talk about it in your sleep sometimes."

Enos' mention of his dream of the fire gave her a strange sense of deja vu, and she had the oddest feeling that she'd forgotten something very important. His dream had started after his father had been killed when his still exploded...

Wide-eyed, she sat up and threw off the quilt and his arm, making him flinch with the unexpected motion.

"What's wrong?"

"Somethin' I forgot!" she said, scrambling to her feet, "Just a minute."

He watched her as she ran over to her side of their room, scooped up her backpack and rummaged through it, pulling out odds and ends and articles of clothing until he reckoned that she must have found what she'd been looking for. She hurried back over to the door and sat down beside him.

"I drew your name for Christmas, but..." Her face fell as she remembered that by Christmas everyone had counted him dead. "Well, anyway, I'd already gotten you something. Not gotten, really, just...Oh, here-" She thrust a small, rectangular box into his surprised hands. "Merry Christmas."

He stared dumbly at the box before looking back up into her eager face. "I didn't get Uncle Jesse nothin." It was all he could think to say.

She waved his words aside. "All you boys ever get him is things like screwdrivers and wrenches. Besides, we all chipped in for him this year. So...are you gonna open it or just look at it?"

Gingerly, he pulled the top off of the box. Inside was a watch.

He took it out, thinking that it looked...familiar. It wasn't until he saw the blackened edge on the leather wristband that his heart caught in his throat and he realized that it was his father's watch. The glass face that had been starred and milky where the explosion had broken it was clear once more, and the hands that had set as a testament to the moment of his death, fixed for all eternity at 1:16 am, marked the time as 8:24.

"Is it okay?" she asked, anxiously. "I know it wasn't my business to be pokin' around in your things... I'm real sorry...Enos?... Sugar?...Say _somethin_', at least..."

He hadn't been aware he'd been crying until a tear dropped onto the glass, distorting the number underneath it. He looked up at her, wanting to gather her up in his arms and hold her forever - yet not daring to touch her for fear he would never be able to let her go. This woman... she had seen into his soul and had sought to heal a wound that everyone else had forgotten in the passage of time. How could she not see how beautiful she was to him?

"Thank you," he whispered.

She smiled and didn't press for anything else. "You're welcome."

He looped it around his wrist and tried to buckle it, but his hand was shaking too badly. Daisy caught it as it fell from his grasp and fastened it on him herself.

"The rain's letting up," she said, retaking her former position against his shoulder.

Not trusting his voice, he nodded. It was a good five minutes before the knot in his throat loosened enough to speak. She'd been right, the rain had been slowing and the day was growing brighter as the clouds thinned above the cabin. As the last errant drops fell, he glanced down at the girl leaning against him, who was wearing camouflage pajamas of all things, and thought back to the dream she'd told him about earlier.

"Daisy, can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, sugar. What is it?"

"That dream... Is that why you stopped wearin' your old clothes?"

She moved back from him so that she could see his face. "Why?" she asked, her brow knitted in confusion. "Did you like them better?"

"No. I like...uh..." He flushed.

She flashed him a brilliant smile that warmed his soul, and stood up, planting a chaste kiss against his cheek. "_That's_ why I stopped wearin' them."


	46. Dreams of Cruel Realities

_"On the edge of a waking dream,  
Over rivers, over seas...  
...Across the desert,  
I'll be there."  
_-Escape Club_  
_

* * *

_Dust, as fine as flour, blew in from the open windows of the truck and settled across the dash, shifting with the vibrations as the vehicle sped down the highway. __The road stretched towards the horizon like an ebony ribbon through the dry desert of a windswept plain. _Before them, the road was empty – a blank canvas that promised safety and freedom. Behind them...

_Daisy dared a glance over the bench-seat at the flashing lights that stretched as far as she could see. _

_"They're comin', Enos! You gotta go faster, Sugar!"_

___He bent over the steering wheel, his eyes intent on the road in front of them. _"I'm gunning it for all it's worth, Daisy," came his flustered reply. 

_She scanned the area up ahead, but there was nowhere to go. Hardpack and dust stretched for miles on either side without so much as a ragged scrub tree to break the panorama. Daisy tried to think back to how long it had been since they'd left the hills of Georgia and Tennessee and found she couldn't remember. They had just crossed over the border into Texas when they'd come upon the waiting ambush.  
_

_Her heart slammed against her chest, and she prayed for a miracle. Prayed that the Earth would swallow them up and hide them, and again she wondered why they had ever left the safety of the mountains in the first place. _

_She reached out and braced herself against the dash as Enos slammed on the brakes and swerved the truck across the ditch. _

_"What're you doin'!" she screamed. "Don't stop!"_

_"There's a barn!"_

_She saw then that there _was_ a barn, though how she had missed it before she didn't know. It was more of a lean-to, built for storage next to a house that had eroded into nothing more than a concrete slab atop the dirt. Much of its corrugated tin roof now lay on the ground in sheets of twisted metal and the wind whistled through the missing slats in it's three walls. _

_"Come on!"_

_Daisy stared at him, but couldn't move. The sounds of sirens grew louder and the distant thrumming of a helicopter arose from somewhere in the sky behind them. _

_Coming. They were coming.  
_

_Still she sat paralyzed until Enos reached across the cab and grabbed her arm, dragging her roughly out of the truck to stand next to him. He took her hand and ran, forcing her to follow him. The ground here wasn't smooth at all, but the remnants of an old corn field. The cut stalks stuck up from the ground, catching at her jeans as she stumbled after him. The wind screamed across the land, whipping her hair into her face and dust into her eyes.  
_

_He pulled her into the lee of the barn, away from the road and wind and stopped._

_"We're too far away for them to have seen ya', Daisy. Get down and hide under them boards and don't you come out for anything." He took her face in his hands. "You hear me, Daisy? Not for anything!"_

_She clutched at his arms. "No, Enos! Just run! They can't drive out here, we can make it. Look!" Across the plain she could see trees now, not so far away, though she didn't remember them being there before._

_"Hun, when they catch me, they're gonna kill me. It's only a matter of time. No one gets away forever."_

_"_We_ do, Enos," she cried, "_We_ do! I swear... Please...don't leave me..."_

_"This is how it's got to be." He traced the tracks of her tears with his thumbs, gently wiping them away. "Don't cry, Daisy Mae. I'm awful sorry I ever hurt you."_

_She shook her head. "Never, Enos. You've never hurt me. Never."_

_A loud crack split the silence around them. Then another. And another. _

_His eyes found hers and held them. His gaze grew intense, determined, and she thought that maybe he was changing his mind and thinking of running. _

_Until he coughed._

_Dark blood spilled from his lips and trickled down his chin. His hands slipped from her face and clutched her shoulders for support._

_"I love you, girl," he whispered – and then he fell._

_"Enos! No!" She dropped to the ground beside him, screaming his name. "Enos! En-"  
_

"Daisy!"

She woke with a start and sat up. The light of the oil lamp shone softly over the walls of the cabin and danced across the quilt that covered her legs. Enos knelt on the bed beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

"Daisy, are you alright?" he asked, worriedly. "You dang near scared me t' death when I heard you screamin'." In fact, it had taken several seconds of shaking to wake her.

Her eyes were wide and fearful, staring straight ahead of her and still partially lost in whatever world she had awoken from. He shook her gently again, and she flinched and turned towards him.

"Hey...hun, it's okay. It was just a bad dream."

"Enos?" Her voice trembled, childlike, and she reached towards him and placed the palm of her right hand over his heart. "Are y-you okay?"

He frowned, wondering what she could have been dreaming. "I'm fine, Daisy." He covered her hand with his own, feeling the echo of his heartbeat through her fingers. "See?"

With a sob, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I'm so sorry, Enos. I didn't mean t' wake you up."

"Shucks, Daisy, don't worry about that," he said, putting his arms around her shoulders. "Was it...that same dream?"

She shook her head and he decided to let it go. Whatever the dream had been, it had scared her badly. He held her long after her crying ceased and little by little he felt her relax against him until he was holding most of her weight.

"Daisy?"

There was no answer and he knew she'd fallen back asleep. He was sitting at an angle on the bed and couldn't move her without waking her.

"Daisy. Daisy, hun, wake up." He stoked her hair and she sat up, wearily, confused until she remembered where she was.

"Oh. Sorry, Enos."

"That's okay. Why dontcha lay down an' I'll tuck you back in."

She nodded and crawled back over to her pillow. Her eyes watched his face as he pulled the quilt back up and tucked it around her shoulders.

"You oughta try an' get some rest," he told her. "Don't worry about gettin' up early, I'll make breakfast."

She grinned. "You're sweet," she said, sleepily, "but I don't like burnt toast."

Enos laughed and ruffled her hair. "Get some sleep," he said, and stood up from the bed to go back to the couch.

"Enos?"

He turned back to her. "Yeah?"

"Stay...please," she whispered. "Lay down beside me. Just until I get back to sleep."

"Daisy..."

"Here, I'll scoot over." She moved her pillow all the way over to the far side of the bed. "See, there's plenty of room."

He sighed. There was nearly a foot between the end of her pillow and the one on his side, but mostly he was too tired to argue with her. "Alright...but just until you fall asleep."

He trimmed the lamp and climbed into the bed, careful to stay as close to the edge as he could, and lay back against the pillow. In the dim glow of the night lights, he listened to her breathing rise and fall, waiting for it to deepen and slow.

In five minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

Agent Wilburn rubbed his eyes and drained the last of his coffee, now cold, with a grimace. He was too old to be pulling over-nighters anymore, but he had always lived by the philosophy that if you did a job yourself, no one else could screw it up. It had led to a long and distinguished career with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, although what he really wanted right now was a bowl of his wife's tomato soup and a long stretch of shut-eye.

"So what'd'ya think?" asked the younger man beside him.

He glanced at Agent Stewart out of the corner of his eye and then turned his attention back to the letter written on a piece of notebook paper and encased in its clear, filmy protector. He lay it back down on the desk.

"I think it's horse-sh$t."

"You think it's a fake? But the hand-writing expert confirmed-"

"Oh, I know Strate wrote it," he said. "I just think it's a load of hogwash is all. I'd bet my pension it's a hoax, but it's a pretty damn well-planned one if it is. The DA's happier than a pig in slop over having a signed, sealed confession."

"What...you think Strate sent it to the Dukes through someone?" Tim shook his head. "That'd explain why we never found it when we searched her room, but I just don't get what he thought it would accomplish. Hell, he's worse off now than he was before. They'll shoot him first and ask questions later if they think he's holdin' the Duke woman hostage."

"Oh it makes sense," Wilburn said, rising from his chair and grabbing his empty coffee cup. "Makes sense if you know your own hide is toast, and you're trying to save your girlfriend from going to prison for busting you out."

"So, what are you gonna do?"

"Me?" He laughed. "I'm just the little guy here. This is Blair and the DA's case, my job's just to find him and bring him back in. If they want to dismiss the charges against Daisy Duke, they won't get any argument from me. Strate's gonna lose his appeals either way."

"She broke him out, Bob."

He turned a tired, cynical eye on his younger partner. "Look, Tim, I interviewed Benjamin Strate three times, and each time I ran him through the ringer and tried every trick I knew to get him to crack. He never changed his story. Not once." He shrugged. "Maybe it was just too crazy a tale for the jury to believe, I don't know."

"You think he was _innocent_?"

"I think he got into it with that guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then he forged that idiot letter to the girl after the fact. That's what hung him. Now he's written another one 'cause he saw how much attention the first one got." He strolled over to the coffee maker and poured himself a fresh cup. "Was he guilty of shoddy police work? Yeah. But he never struck me as the sort who'd kill anybody."

* * *

Daisy had a problem.

Not an unwanted one, but one nonetheless that was going to have to be dealt with sooner or later and preferably before the _cause_ of the problem woke up.

She bit her tongue to keep from laughing at her predicament, reminding herself if Enos discovered just where his subconscious mind had planted his body while he was sleeping, she was going to lose all the ground she'd made up with him so far. Despite being a man who had always distanced himself from compromising situations, he was the one on her side of the bed with his arm wrapped around her waist and his face buried in her hair.

The sun was shining brightly through the window, a sure sign that she'd overslept and if she didn't get moving she was going to regret the consequences. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to memorize the feeling of waking up in Enos' arms, knowing she was the only woman who had ever had the privilege.

He shifted behind her and his face grazed the back of her neck, making her breath catch and sending a shiver though her. Quickly, she slipped out of his reach and out of the bed before she forgot why she needed to in the first place. She went to the bathroom to shower and change before Enos woke up and beat her to the hot water.

When she came out, he was still sleeping and looked so peaceful that she decided not to wake him. Instead, she sat down on the other side of the bed, propped a pillow up behind her back and picked up the book she'd been reading the day before from the nightstand. She'd read only a few pages when Enos rolled over, yawned and looked up at her. She laughed at the confusion on his face.

"Mornin', sunshine," she quipped.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his watch. "Possum on a gum-bush, Daisy! Why'd you let me sleep so late?"

"You looked so tuckered out, I reckoned you needed a nice long nap in a decent bed for a change. 'Sides, you and Jack nearly have that barn finished. The last week you two've been doing more jawing than working."

He rolled over facing her and propped himself up on his elbow. "I'm right sorry, Daisy. I didn't mean t' fall asleep with ya' last night." He glanced behind him at the edge of the bed which was less than a foot away. "I...I wasn't all the way over _here_, was I?"

"You were a perfect gentleman, Enos," she assured him, "I shoved you over there so I could sit down and read."

"Oh." He craned his neck up to see better. "Whatcha readin'?"

Blushing, she lowered the book to where he couldn't see the cover. "Nothin' you'd like."

He tugged the corner of the book up, while Daisy tried to hold it down. Intrigued, he snatched it out of her hands and looked at the cover and laughed. "This ain't _your_ copy. The pages ain't fallin' out, yet."

"It's Jane's," she said. "Give it back."

She grabbed for it, but he moved it out of her reach. "How many times have you read Jane Eyre? Ain't you got it memorized by now?"

"None of your business, and you tease me about it every time. I'm gettin' tired of it."

He ignored her and skimmed the page she'd been reading. He flipped the next page, read for a moment, and then flipped back to the previous page and shot her an amused glance. _"'I wish I were in a quiet island with only you," _he read_, "and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollections removed from me._" Solemnly, he closed the book and handed it back to her. "I reckon you find truth in strange places, huh? Say, did you give that girl your postcard to send off?"

Jane's niece, Tanya, had come down from Evansville, Indiana, earlier that week to visit before making her way to Atlanta to see Ginny. She had agreed to take Daisy's postcard with her to mail while she was there, and so Daisy had addressed it directly to Uncle Jesse, hoping the GBI would be thrown off their trail by the Atlanta post-mark.

"I gave it to her last night before she headed out," she said, "She's supposed to be comin' back by this afternoon, and I'll make sure she didn't forget it."

"You best do that," he said, tossing the quilt off of him. "That girl got beat with a stupid stick."

Daisy snorted. Tanya's neon pink clothing, crimped blond hair, and incessant bubble gum popping had seemed a little bizarre in their rural setting. That and she had proclaimed that Enos was 'cute'...in front of him.

"Not your type, sugar?" she asked, slyly.

He blushed and turned away from her as he got out of bed. "Just make sure she sent it," he grumbled.

* * *

By 3:00pm, a cool breeze had rolled over the ridge and Daisy, Enos, Jack and Jane were sitting out on the front porch of the house, enjoying doing nothing. While they were relaxing, there was a crunch of tires on the gravel drive and Tanya's bright green Escort pulled into view. Jack and Jane got up to go meet her and so only Daisy saw Enos' annoyed grimace.

"Don't be so sour," she said, elbowing him. "She thinks you're cute."

"I'd thank you t' shut up," he hissed back, but painted a smile on his face and followed the Coles down the steps and out to the yard.

Tanya cut off her conversation with her aunt and uncle the instant she saw Enos. He flinched as she ran up to him and threaded her arm though his. "I swear I didn't meet any guys as sweet as you in Atlanta, Enos," she simpered. "How 'bout you come back up t' Indiana with me? I'll make it worth your while."

Even from a distance, Daisy could see Enos blushing. She smothered a laugh, enjoying watching him squirm.

"Uh... Well, that's mighty nice of ya', Miss Tanya," he said, "but I uh...I don't think that's a good idea."

"Well, why not?" she demanded.

"Hey Tanya," said Daisy, finally coming to his rescue, "did you happen t' send that postcard off while you were down in Atlanta?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh gosh, Daisy! You know, I clear forgot all about it when I was down in Atlanta, so I dropped it off at the post office in Blue Ridge."

Four sets of eyes stared at each other, each reflected in silent horror.

Jane nodded slightly to Jack and then put her arm around Tanya's shoulders. "Tanya," she said, steering the woman away from them, "you've just _got_ to see how my begonia's are comin' up."

"Blue Ridge," Enos repeated, stunned.

Jack shook his head. "Well. That's that, I reckon," he said, "I'm real sorry, but we ain't got much time to get y'all out of here. Blue Ridge is only a day out from Hazzard by mail, and the GBI will be crawlin' all over this ridge by tomorrow night." He glanced down at his watch. "You two go ahead and get packed up and I'll try and see who I can get hold of."

Daisy, who had spent the last five minutes watching her world fall to pieces in front of her, choked back a sob as Jack rushed away from them and back into the house. "I'm so sorry, Enos," she said, heartbroken. "I should've never sent that dang postcard."

"It's not your fault, Daisy," said Enos, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Things just happen."


	47. Fate Rides an Iron Horse

_"They made up their minds_  
_and they started packing_.  
_They left before the sun came up that day_.  
_An exit to eternal summer slacking,_  
_but where were they going_  
_without ever knowing the way?_"  
-Fastball

* * *

_Tuesday, April 22, 1986_  
**_7:00 pm_**

* * *

At the Post Office in Acworth, Georgia, mail clerk Mabel Clements had just punched in for her usual overnight shift. After a quick hello to her fellow workers, she grabbed the top tray from the stack beside the sorting table, licked her thumb to dampen it and set to work, sorting each letter into its proper slot where it would be routed either to other processing centers in Georgia or into the local bin where it would be further sorted and delivered by the carriers in the morning.

She hummed as she worked, her eyes gliding quickly across the addresses and zip codes with the ease of long experience. She was thinking about her grandkids, and how she should really get that inflatable pool down from the attic and clean it out before the weather got much hotter. They'd want it come mid-May and she only hoped it hadn't been chewed by the mice.

In fact, she might have whisked the postcard on its merry way to the Choctaw processing center without noticing, except that she had just finished watching the local news earlier that evening. The top story, as it had been for the last two months, was the murderer who had escaped from Hazzard County, Benjamin Enos Strate, and his girlfriend, Daisy Mae Duke.

The names were still fresh in her mind when her eyes caught on the zip code, and she stopped and took a closer look at the address of the card she held in her hand.

**Mr. Jesse Duke**  
**1217 Old Mill Creek Road**  
**Hazzard, GA, 31805**

She pressed one hand over her breast to slow her racing heart and took a deep breath.

"Bill?" she called, "Bill come here!"

A man in his mid-fifties with wire-rimmed spectacles peeked his head around the corner. "What's up?"

She waved him over and showed him the postcard. "Duke," she said, tapping at the address, "and it's in _Hazzard_. That's where that girl's from that broke that guy outta jail! That _Duke_ girl."

He took it from her and peered down at it through his bi-focals. "Well, I'll be dipped in..."

"You think it's from _her_? Duke can't be that common a name!"

"Well, it's better safe than sorry," he said, "I'll go call the Sheriff's Department and see what they think we oughta do about it." He took the postcard with him and walked away. "Good eyes, Mabel!"

Twenty minutes later, the Cobb County Sheriff was on the line with Agent Robert Wilburn of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

* * *

_**9:00pm**  
_

* * *

Daisy and Enos sat across from each other at the small table in the cabin. Neither spoke, their minds focused inwardly and thinking over what needed to happen the next twelve hours.

Jack had gotten in touch with his contact in Texas. Jim Mullen and his wife, Patsy, were comfortably retired and spent a large portion of the year visiting State Parks and national wonders in their luxury RV. Jack had called them on a whim since they weren't expected back home in Texas until the first week of May, but luckily for Enos and Daisy their RV trip had been cut short by a bad burger outside of Phoenix.

After dinner, they'd gathered around the fireplace; Jack, Jane, Daisy and Enos, much as they had done on the night the two of them had first arrived. Daisy had sat for a long time staring into the flames of the fire, listening to Jack and Enos behind her as they'd formed a plan of action. It seemed surreal that they would have to leave Jack and Jane. In less than two months, their cabin had begun to feel like home.

It was decided that they would leave at first light; Enos first with Matt, and then Jack with Daisy following an hour behind them. She had objected to them being split up, but Enos had been adamant that it was the safest course of action. They'd meet up with each other again at the rendezvous point just outside Idabel, Oklahoma, where Jim would pick them up in the RV and drive them south into Texas and the small town of Gilmer.

"I still don't like it," Daisy murmured, stirring Enos from his thoughts. "We'd be safer together. If something goes wrong and we get split up, we'll never find each other."

He looked across at her with weary eyes. "Daisy, if somethin' goes wrong, I don't want you with me." He ran his hand through his hair and propped himself up on his elbow. "I'm done talkin' about it. You're goin' with Jack and you're gonna give me and Matt a good hour head start before you start whinin' to leave. I shoulda told him _two_ hours."

She sighed but didn't argue and he knew she was tired.

"You oughta get some sleep," he said. "We're gonna need to leave about 4:00 am."

"I couldn't sleep if I tried." She took a sip from the glass of tea in front of her. "I should probably check around one more time to make sure we didn't forget anything."

"Don't bother, I already did. 'Sides, you've checked a dozen times already. If we forgot something, it can't be that important." Their backpacks sat to the left of the door, ready to be picked up and taken with them when they left.

There was a scraping sound against the roof of the cabin and they both looked up, even though they knew it was just a branch being blown against it. The wind had picked up since evening and thunder growled softly in the distance, but the air was still dry and Enos thought the storm would likely play out before it got to them.

The wind, though, was more than enough to reckon with and at the rate it was blowing, there would be downed limbs by morning.

Daisy got up from the table. "I'll check anyway," she answered. "I'm gonna go crazy sitting here."

She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she passed behind him and he watched her walk down the hallway towards the bathroom. His eyes followed her, planting the image of her into his memory. Whether or not she found anything he'd forgotten mattered little - his own plans didn't include sticking around long enough to care.

He'd convinced everyone that the best option would be if he and Matt set out first, alone, to keep Daisy safe. And it _was_ the best plan - only not for the reasons the others assumed. It was 735 miles from Blue Ridge, Georgia, to Idabel, Oklahoma. Even if he and Matt drove straight through, they would need to stop for gas. The first chance he got, Enos planned to ditch Matt, take the truck and drive like a bat out of Hell until he found a speed-trap. Then he would lead police northward on a chase that would take them far enough away from Daisy's route that she wouldn't be found.

Jack would know enough to report the truck stolen and with him and Jane running a Bed and Breakfast, taking in a stranger who had made off with their vehicle was more than plausible. Daisy would be safe with them until the state either dropped the charges against her or they helped her make it across the border.

Either way, until they knew whether the GBI was going to prosecute her or not, she couldn't be found and definitely not with _him_. There had been nothing new over the radio concerning the GBI and the letter he'd sent, and he was beginning to worry that Uncle Jesse hadn't called them in the first place.

A heavy gust of wind made the cabin shudder on it's foundation and the lights flickered and snapped off. Enos got up, pushing the seat back under the table so that he wouldn't trip on it, and reached out in the darkness with both hands until he touched the wall of the kitchen. Turning to his left, he walked gingerly the five feet to the bed-side table, felt for the book of matches on top and struck one. By the light of the match, he lit the oil lamp on the table.

"Daisy," he called behind him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm right here," she said, coming out of the bathroom. "I'll find the flashlights."

She went to the door and knelt down by their backpacks and rummaged though them, pulling the flashlights out just as the power came back on. "Figures," she laughed, walking back over to where he stood. "I find the fl-"

The sudden, shrill wailing of an alarm cut her off. She looked up at him, into eyes that were just as frightened as her own. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton. "Maybe it's the wind...or a deer," she said, but her hands shook so badly she dropped his flashlight.

For a moment, Enos was frozen until Daisy caught at his sleeve and his mind jerked back into focus. "It might be a deer," he allowed, "but it's better safe than sorry. Grab your backpack and get outside, I'll be right behind you."

He ran back into the kitchen and flipped open the door of the breaker box, snapping the switches to the off position until everything was dark and the alarm cut off. By the light of the lamp, he picked up his flashlight where Daisy had dropped it, grabbed his backpack and followed her out the door.

The woods were pitch black and and even with the flashlights they stumbled over roots and rocks along their path. The wind whipped the thin, green branches of the sapling trees against them, disorienting them in their motion and scratching at their faces and arms as they pushed through them. The usual sounds of the night were imperceptible, drowned out by the turbulent rushing of leaves in the trees.

It took nearly five minutes to get from the cabin and through the woods to the clearing behind the house. Despite the wind, the sky above them was cloudless and the grass rippled under the light of a full moon.

As they stepped out into the yard, Enos stopped. There was something wrong here, something that he couldn't define and a sense of malevolence and danger that hung as thick as fog in the air. It was the same feeling he'd had in the yard at Fulton when eyes followed his movements, waiting for an opportunity to attack him. He turned, thinking he had seen a shadow out of the corner of his eye, flitting swiftly across the ridge. He shook his head, unable to tell if his mind was playing tricks on him or not - if his ears were truly hearing a soft thrumming of blades against the air in a counterpane to the rush of the wind. The uneasy feeling swelled inside of him, rushing through his veins like quicksilver and without thinking he caught Daisy's hand and pulled her back into the trees just as a helicopter swept over the ridge and past them, throwing a blinding circle of light across the yard.

Daisy screamed and turned to run, but he stood his ground and pulled her back beside him.

"Stop it, Daisy! Running off ain't gonna fix nothin! They're probably already at th' cabin."

He saw her close her eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "We can hide, Enos," she said, quickly, "if they find the cabin empty, they'll think they missed us and that we're already long gone and leave. Then we can go on back in the morning."

"They ain't leavin', Daisy," he said, shaking his head. "They know I'm here. I forgot and left the oil lamp burnin' in the cabin. I'm sorry."

"What're we gonna do?" She looked up at him through eyes that were terrified and glassy with tears, but with a trust that was absolute and unwavering. He looked away.

"There ain't no goin' back," he said. "Not now. The GBI and the FBI and anyone else who wants a piece of me will have this place shut up tighter than a bug in a jar by morning. Just...just let me think a minute."

He had two choices as he saw it. He could send her on – tell her he was right behind her and to meet him down at the river, and then double back and give himself up and hope that they called off the search before they found her. It would be suicide; even if they captured him alive and took him back to prison, his days would be numbered. Some gangster with a vendetta towards cops would gut him long before they strapped him down to ride the lightning. But his greatest fear was for Daisy. If he gave himself up, he was scared to death that she would try and come after him.

The second choice was to run, which was even crazier than the first choice because there was nowhere for them to go. At the bottom of the ridge beyond the railroad tracks, ran the Ocoee River, full of rocks and rapids and unnavigable by swimmers. They'd drown before they got halfway across.

He turned around, stepping out just past the trees so that he could scan the ridge. Flashlights now shone outward from over the hill where the house sat, casting their beams down into the valley above Enos' head before dispersing into the darkness. They were getting closer and if they had tracking dogs, they wouldn't get far either way.

Behind him was death. Before him was death.

Suddenly, the far-off scream of a train whistle pierced the night, and down the line, at the edge of the ridge, a pin-point of light appeared on the horizon. If it was a sign, he neither knew nor cared, but it was the only choice that was not already guaranteed to fail. He grasped Daisy's hand tightly in his.

"The train!" he shouted, pulling her behind him through the woods. "It has to slow down around the curve!"

"But in the morning-"

"Daisy, if we stay here, they'll catch you and you're not goin' to prison! Come on!"

Hand in hand, they ran down the ridge under the cover and safety of the forest. Above them, they could hear the thudding of the blades as the helicopter circled around for another pass and it's spotlight lit up the trees around them in stark black and white as it moved over and past them.

"Can they see us?" she shouted, breathless.

"We'll know soon enough!"

At last the woods thinned and in front of them was a clearing of about 500 feet and then the train which had slowed to a snails pace as it navigated the sharp curve to their north which led into McCaysville. There was nothing to keep them from being seen.

"We'll have to chance it," he told her, "and we've gotta go now. If we miss the train, there's no other way out." He let her pull him from the edge of the woods and across the field. This close, the train was deafening and frightening in the immenseness of it's power and ripped his breath away. He leaned in close to Daisy and shouted, "Wait for a grainer, then run beside it and grab the ladder!"

She looked back at him and shook her head to show that she couldn't hear him. He held up his hand for her to wait. The cars were faintly visible in the moonlight, and after a dozen closed boxcars, he saw the white metal and diagonal lines of a grainer. As it passed them, he pulled her with him, running to match it's speed and then let her hand go and grasped the ladder and swung himself up onto the platform behind it. He turned around and caught Daisy just as she jumped and the two of them fell backwards against the grain bin.

Her flashlight skittered to the edge and fell between the cars.

"You alright?" he asked, detangling himself from her. His voice echoed off the metal behind him.

She pulled herself up and looked around, amazed to find them both in one piece. "Yeah. I'm okay. I lost my flashlight." She shrugged off her backpack and shoved it up against the inside of the railcar next to his.

"We're lucky we didn't loose our legs," he grumbled. "Come here, I don't want you fallin' off the side."

She settled back against him as his arms embraced her shoulders, unaware of the plans that he'd made to leave her the next morning and just how close she had come to losing him forever. He shut off his flashlight and around them plunged into darkness as the train moved slowly through the valley.


	48. Night Train

_"..__Here I am just a drownin' in the rain,  
with a ticket for a runaway train."_  
-Soul Asylum

* * *

Uncle Jesse had just gotten into bed when the phone began ringing at the Duke Farm. A familiar dread fell over him, borne of past experience with such late-night calls and the knowledge that they seldom brought _good_ news, laced with the haunting memory of Sheriff Butch Harris calling to tell him there had been an explosion and that his best friend, Otis Strate, was dead.

He shuffled back into the kitchen and took a deep breath before picking it up in mid-ring, praying to hear Daisy's voice on the other end.

"Hello?'

"Uncle Jesse? Hey, it's me, Cooter."

Disappointment warred with relief. "Cooter," he sighed, too weary to remind the man that they weren't' related, "what's wrong?"

"I didn't know if y'all heard, but it's all over WGCL right now. The Feds think they've got Enos and Daisy cornered at some hotel or somethin' up near Blue Ridge."

_Sheriff Harris had called and asked him to check on Agnes and Enos that night. Daisy had caught him as he'd left, begging to go with him but he'd sent her back inside. What had he told her...back then? Something about how Enos wasn't her responsibility..._

"Uncle Jesse, are you there?...Uncle Jesse?"

"Huh?...Oh!" He shook his head to clear it, feeling the weight of a month of restless, sleepless nights. Lately he'd had trouble stringing more than a few thoughts together at once and the realization that he'd drifted away while Cooter was telling him about Daisy was enough to shock him back awake. "Yeah...yeah, I'm here, Cooter. They've _caught_ 'em?'

"Oh no! No, they ain't said nothin' about_ catchin'_ them...not yet. Listen, I-I know it's late, but y'all are welcome t' come down and watch it here. I had Earl put some new vacuum tubes in that old color jobber I've had sittin' around back. Probably get a better idea of what's goin' on than listenin' to the radio."

"Well...that sounds good, Cooter," said Jesse, "I'll go wake up th' boys."

* * *

The four of them sat in greasy, plastic folding chairs around the television set that Cooter had wheeled out into the garage. Their expressions ranged from annoyance to rage to despair as they watched the anchors on Atlanta's CBS station, WGCL, rehash the same news from earlier and speculate on the why's and wherefore's of the relationship between Daisy and Enos. Everyone on television seemed perversely happy about the manhunt, as though the whole deal was some macabre circus just waiting for the main act to go down in flames.

The camera cut from the station view to pan the darkness of the ridge, focusing on a grainy orb of light which was explained as the helicopter scouting the area for the fugitives.

Time rolled on with more of the same and then a special report, filmed weeks earlier, showing the floor plan of the Hazzard Jail and detailing what they knew about the escape. The officer who had been guarding Enos had been suspended pending an investigation, but he had a history of Narcolepsy and most people figured it was just bad luck that he'd forgotten to take his medication before the shift change.

There were no interviews of Hazzard residents - reporters had gotten tired of the locals demanding justice for Mr. Strate weeks before. The last straw was the Postmistress herself declaring live on the Atlanta ABC affiliate that the GBI were a bunch of no good scoundrels before she looked into the camera and encouraged Enos and Daisy to keep running and stay safe. Sympathy for the criminals apparently didn't make for good ratings.

The report was suddenly replaced by a screen which advised viewers to stay tuned for "Breaking News". The station cut to a male anchor in the studio, looking expectantly at the camera for his cue.

"Good evening to all those in our viewing area," he began, "we apologize for the interruption, but we're going to take you live now to the scene at Blue Ridge where Carly DuBois is standing by with some new information on the search for Enos Strate." He tapped his ear-piece lightly. "Carly, can you hear me?"

The station cut away to a view of a female reporter standing outdoors, lighted by a spotlight. In one hand she held a microphone, in the other a black umbrella. She took a deep breath and nodded slightly.

"Hi Mike, yes WGCL has just learned that agents with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation working in connection with the FBI have reason to suspect that the fugitive, Benjamin Enos Strate, may now be headed into Tennessee. At 9:15 pm Eastern time, officials raided a small cabin owned by Jack Cole and his wife, Jane, who operate a private Bed and Breakfast just outside of Blue Ridge, Georgia."

The screen flashed quickly to a shot of Jack and then back to the reporter.

"Evidence was found linking the suspect to the cabin and a search of the property had been ongoing until about ten minutes ago when information was released concerning a CSX freight train that passed through the valley behind us shortly after the raid began. It is not known at this time whether the FBI believes that Benjamin Strate or his girlfriend and accomplice, Daisy Duke, are aboard that train. What I _can_ tell you at this time is that it appears that the search here at the Cole's residence has ceased and that officials seem to be regrouping, but anything else is speculation."

The view cut back to the anchors in the station with the reporter in an inset in the right hand corner. "Carly, what's the weather like out there and will that have an affect on the investigation?"

She looked up towards the edge of her umbrella where rain was dripping steadily, and then back into the camera. "Yes, as you can see the rain has really picked up in the last fifteen minutes or so. As to how that will affect the search, we haven't heard anything official yet, but the helicopter they were using earlier has landed."

"Thanks, Carly. Folks, don't go anywhere. We're going to go to a commercial break and then we'll be right back."_  
_

Cooter slapped his knee. "Whoo-dog! Thank goodness for the rain. If they're on that train, maybe they'll have a chance."

"I know him...," murmured Uncle Jesse.

They turned in unison. "What's that, Uncle Jesse?" asked Bo.

He shook his head, confused. "I'm tryin' to remember where I've seen that feller before. It's been a long time, but... I've met him somewheres...I'm sure of it."

"Who? The news guy?"

"No. Jack Cole...Jack..." He squinted his eyes as though the answer were just beyond him, pasted to the wall. "Only...I don't remember his last name being _Cole_."

Jesse thought back over the years, through memories of people and faces. He pictured the man younger, with darker hair, and the image of him sitting at a table eating popped into his mind. Only it wasn't Jesse's table and not his house. It was Otis's kitchen. _Otis_ had known Jack, not him, but he'd met him after a bootlegging run. The man had been talking about something...odd...what was his job?

In his mind, he saw the man laugh. _"Trains are in my blood,"_ he'd said.

_Trains._

Uncle Jesse looked up at the ring of faces waiting expectantly. "I've met him before. Must have been nearly forty years ago, but I'm _sure_ that's him. He was a friend of Otis...used to come by every once in a while. He rode trains."

* * *

Along a dark stretch of track just south of McCaysville, a freight train rumbled its way around the wall of rock cut deeply into the side of the mountain. Enos switched on his flashlight, shielding the beam with his hand to let only a small amount of light escape. He shined it over his watch which read twenty minutes after ten, and then out towards the end of the narrow porch. Rain blew in steady streams off the overhang above them towards the next car in tow. He sighed, relieved that it was still raining.

The helicopter had followed them for several miles. Once it had even flashed it's spotlight over the very car they were riding in. They had cowered in the shadows, eyes shut tight against the blinding light, expecting at any moment to hear the grating squeal of the train's airbrakes as the GBI ordered it stopped and searched. But then the rain had come and the chopper had left and the train had continued on without stopping.

It had been a relief, but one tempered with knowing the FBI might simply be waiting for them when they stopped at the railyard outside of Copperhill, Tennessee.

"We'd better go ahead and get off before we get to the railyard."

Daisy tilted her head back to look at him. "Can't we just stay where we are? Maybe the train won't stop."

"Oh, it'll stop," he said. "I reckon they know we're on the train, they just can't get to us right now. If we get off before we stop at the railyard, maybe we can swing around behind it and find another train."

"How far away do you think we are?"

"We've been goin' for about an hour. It can't be much further, I think we've been slowin' down for a while."

He had just finished talking when a long screeching sound arose from underneath them. He turned the flashlight back on and struggled to his feet, pulling Daisy up with him. "Them are the brakes. Get your backpack."

They picked up their packs and Enos moved to the right side of the porch and steadied himself against the ladder. He turned the beam of his light out in front of him - and jumped back against Daisy who caught him around the waist to keep from falling. On the highway beside them, a semi whizzed by less than a few yards from the side of the train.

"Possum on a gum-bush!" His heart raced, thinking that he might have jumped there in blind faith. "We ain't goin'_ that_ way." He moved over to the other side and shined the light again. The land there was grassy with trees just beyond. It sloped downwards from the tracks, but it didn't look too steep. Besides, they had to get off soon, the train was barely crawling along.

"Just jump off?" asked Daisy behind him.

"Jack said when you get off or on, you always want t' toss your stuff first so you don't get caught on nothin' or overbalanced." He slung his backpack down from his shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yeah...but be careful, sugar. I can't carry you if you break your leg."

He looked back at her. "You be right behind me."

"I'll be right behind you," she promised.

He took a last look with the flashlight, then tossed his backpack out and jumped off. His foot hit the solid, unyielding ground and he lost his balance and rolled a good ten feet down the side of the hill before a tree stopped him. He dragged himself upright. Daisy had faired better and ran back to where he was.

"Enos! Are you okay?"

He brushed at the mud and leaves that stuck to his clothes. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Just dirty." He walked over and picked up his backpack. The train was gone, but it's red end lights flashed a short distance down the tracks and the sky glowed softly through the rain, lit by the lights of the rail-yard.

They made their way as stealthily as they could up to and past the cars of the train they had come from. As they rounded the last bend into the yard, they were met by the scene Enos had feared. The two immense CSX engines stood still and silent, bathed in flashing blue and red lights and spotlights that blazed with a bright clear light, even through the rain. Enos could make out two unmarked black sedans and three Tennessee State Patrol cars directly across from them.

Daisy pulled him down closer to the ground and they watched as more than a dozen officers fanned out to search the train, scouring each car with methodical precision, the beams of their flashlights playing over the metal railings. When most of the men were out of earshot, Enos stood back up and glanced around. Beside them was the bank of the river and behind them was the town of Copperhill. To get out, they would need to keep walking forward, unless they took a chance on crossing the yard and the highway on the other side. As he stood debating which way to turn, there was a series of loud, metallic clunks from further up the tracks. He strained his eyes in that direction.

"I think there might be another train leaving up yonder," he whispered to Daisy. "Let's try and get past all this."

She nodded and they moved as quietly as they could along the riverbank, past the engines and the State Police cars. A group of men wearing rain slickers with "FBI" embolden in large letters on their backs stood just across from them on the other side of the trees in a loose semi-circle, but they were turned away from the river and none of them noticed the two figures who passed them by. Ahead on the number five track, a second train was pulling slowly out of the yard.

"Run, Daisy!"

They raced as fast as they could until they were even with the last car of the train that was pulling out. As the train picked up steam, he pulled Daisy with him past the trees and up to the grainer that was the next to the last car in line. He tossed his backpack up over the railing and the caught the ladder and climbed into the car. Daisy followed behind him.

"You're s'posed to throw your backpack up first!"

She tossed it down. "Sorry! I was scared I'd miss and lose it."

He pulled her down onto the floor of the porch with him, out of the FBI's line of sight. The anger in his eyes surprised her as he cupped her face with his hand. "I don't care about the dang backpack, Daisy!" he said, fiercely. "I care about _you_! This ain't a game."

"I know it's not, sugar," she said, taken aback. "I'm real sorry, Enos. I didn't mean to make you worry." They passed out from under the lights of the rail-yard and into the darkness of night. She sensed him shift closer to her, to be heard over the sound of the train.

"I already do enough worrying about you. Stuff's just...stuff. I can't replace _you_."

If it hadn't been dark, he would have seen her blush. He dropped his hand and turned on his flashlight, shining it around them. The back of the car they were now riding was more enclosed than the previous one had been. They were in a sort of rectangular well with raised sides and metal panels enclosing them on the right and left. Behind them was an oval shaped hole about two and a half feet tall. Enos crawled back towards it and peered inside.

"There's a pretty big space in here," he said, his voice echoing. "Be a good place t' hide, I reckon."

She crept beside him and stuck her head in. "Smells like a pig farm."

"Smells better than prison," he said, settling back against the inner wall of the porch. Daisy sat down beside him and he turned off the flashlight.

Both were silent, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the rails beneath them. By eleven o'clock, the rain had passed and the stars shone clear and bright in the sky.

* * *

It was past midnight by the time Bo, Luke, and Uncle Jesse stumbled wearily back into their own kitchen. They had stayed until the news stations had shut down until morning and had switched back to their regular broadcast schedule.

"I'm too plum wound up and worried t' sleep now," complained Uncle Jesse. "Bo, why dontcha put some milk on to warm before we hit th' hay?"

"Yes sir, Uncle Jesse."

As Bo grabbed a saucepan, a crash came from the hallway. Uncle Jesse and Bo hurried out of the kitchen to find Luke dragging everything out of the hall closet.

"Luke?" asked Bo. "What in tarnation are you doin', cuz?"

"I'm tryin' to find my backpack," he answered, without looking at them. "I coulda sworn it was in here."

"It's been in that there closet since you came back from the Marines, I reckon," said Jesse, "don't know why it wouldn't still be."

Luke stood up, his expression tired and grim. "Daisy must've taken it." He shoved everything back in and shut the door. "I'm gonna need to borrow yours, Bo."

Bo exchanged a confused look with Uncle Jesse who shrugged his shoulders. "Well...uh...sure, Luke. What'cha need it for?"

"I'm goin' after them, that's what for."

"After _who_? Enos and Daisy?" Bo laughed. "I think you must've hit your head gettin' out of the General while ago."

"Keep laughing, Bo," he snapped. "I'm bein' serious. Tomorrow morning, I want you to take me over to Blue Ridge, and I'm gonna talk to this Jack Cole fella and see if I can find out where they're headed. If he's an old friend of Otis Strate's, I'll bet my bottom dollar he knows a lot more than what the GBI knows." He turned to Uncle Jesse. "I promise, Uncle Jesse, I'll find Daisy and I'll bring her back home."


	49. From Copperhill to Etowah

A/N: If you're interested, you can view actual home videos of the trip between Blue Ridge and McCaysville/Copperhill and McCaysville/Copperhill to Etowah by searching for them on YouTube. The first leg is now the "Blue Ridge Scenic Railway" and the second is the "Hiawasse Loop" excursion on the Tennessee Valley Railroad.

**Please note: Catching freight trains** (as exciting and romantic as it sounds),** is dangerous and can lead to a shortened life-span with a painful and messy ending. Don't do it!**

The quote is from one of my favorite books: The Hundred and One Dalmatians, by Dodie Smith. If all you've ever known is the Disney version, check out the _real_ book someday.

* * *

_"On and on through the darkness went the mile-eating miracle."_  
-Dodie Smith

* * *

The train traveled slowly though the hills of southern Tennessee, through darkened valleys thick with vegetation and unmarred by the lights of any farmhouses. The clear skies and stars they had seen earlier from the ridge were hidden now as the trees enclosed them and steep walls of rock rose on either side of the track. With no points for reference, they traveled blindly onward while behind them and before them rose the great metal hulks of the rail-cars.

In the quiet stretch of time since leaving Copperhill, Daisy had begun to worry that trapping themselves on the train was the worst thing they could have done. If the FBI was following them, the next stop might be the end of the line in more ways than one. It hardly seemed possible that six hours before, they had been sitting comfortably around the fireplace in Jack's living room.

She felt Enos stir restlessly beside her as he turned the flashlight on, playing its light over the spiderweb of ladders and thin, steel crossbeams at the sides of the porch. The coupling holding the next car in tow glittered with raindrops as it jerked about and rattled incessantly. She tilted her head back to study his face in the dimness. It mirrored what she expected her own did - worry and fatigue, and her heart skipped a beat to think of how close she'd come to loosing him.

For the moment they were safe, and they were together.

Had he thought of running, up on that ridge? She was dreadfully certain that he had, in that heart-stopping moment when they had first seen the helicopter at Jack's. She'd almost expected him to tell her to run ahead, telling her he'd catch up with her, while he doubled back and gave himself up. But then the train had come, and whether he'd seen it as an escape or simply a way to bide his time, she didn't know. None of this had been part of anyone's plan.

He shut off the light and shifted again, his elbow now bumping against her own and in her mind's eye she saw his hands fidgeting, worrying at his nails. He'd make them bleed again if he didn't stop. Reaching over, she ran her hand down his arm; the warm, soft brush of his shirt contrasting the previous harshness of the light and the steel around her. She found his hand and clasped it in her own, grateful that he didn't seem to mind the contact between them. The roughness of his callused skin was comforting, and in the darkness it seemed more real than the invisible mayhem around them.

"Where do you think we're headed?"

He angled closer to her in order to be heard, his breath warm against her cheek. "I don't rightly know," he answered. "I think th' next railyard's at Etowah. As slow as we're goin', it's libel to be sun-up before we get there."

"You think they're followin' us?"

She felt him hesitate, as though saying it might cause it to be so. "Th' Feds ain't stupid. It was plum luck we didn't get caught at Copperhill." He leaned back against the metal wall of the grainer, taking his warmth with him and making her shiver. "I'm outta ideas, Daisy," he admitted. "If you've got any, let me know."

Both fell silent then and she rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the thumping of the rail-ties as the train moved on through the night.

* * *

At a quarter to four in the morning, a light shone out from the window of the farmhouse on Old Mill Road, a solitary point in the still and solemn darkness of pre-dawn. In the room where the light originated, Luke Duke ran his hands briskly through his hair and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before grabbing the flannel shirt draped over the foot of his bed.

Growing up on a farm, he was used to early hours, but the night before had been long and the day had turned to the next before his thoughts had settled long enough for him to fall asleep. By the door was the backpack he'd outfitted. He had no way of knowing if he would need it or not, but he felt better with it than without. It was planting season and they were short-handed as it was without Daisy, and Bo would be needed here at the farm. Luke was fully prepared to travel alone, whether by bus, walking, or hitch-hiking until he found Daisy and Enos. He pushed aside the thought that his goal might be easier said than done. Facing his uncle without Daisy wasn't an option.

Bo was still sound asleep, unfazed by the alarm which had been blaring for some time before Luke had shut it off. His head was swaddled in his quilt with only few stray tufts of blond hair sticking out from around the top. When Bo had been little, Aunt Lavinia had been dreadfully worried he'd smother himself someday.

Luke smiled sadly at the thought of his aunt, who had died when he was twelve. She had been the only mother he could remember, and a light had disappeared from their family with her passing that had never been fully rekindled. He'd always been slightly ashamed of himself for the feelings her death had conjured up. Although it had brought him sorrow, it had also brought a kind of bitterness along with it for, like the edge of a sharpened knife, it had cut short the last years of his childhood.

Being the oldest, the responsibility of looking after Daisy and Bo had fallen to him on nights when Uncle Jesse had boot-legging runs to make. Luke had taken his new role seriously - perhaps _too_ seriously at times, but he'd always meant well. Bo had been only four and had taken it in stride, but he and Daisy had butted heads often in their younger years.

He sighed heavily and finished dressing, then shook Bo awake. His cousin raised his head wearily and glanced at the clock before plopping back down on his pillow.

"It's not even four, Luke," he grumbled. "Give me another half-hour."

"We'd best get started, cuz. Daisy an' Enos already have a good head-start. Besides, if Rosco sees us leavin' the county we'll have bigger problems than bein' sleepy."

"Alright." Bo threw off the covers. "I'm up."

* * *

Enos kept a lonely vigil through the early morning hours, long after Daisy had fallen asleep. He was weary himself and had nodded off half a dozen times, only to be jolted awake by the shaking of the train. He told himself he needed to stay awake anyway. It would be too dangerous for them both to fall asleep, in case the FBI were waiting for them at Etowah. To have a fighting chance, they would need to get off the train as soon as it slowed.

His watch read 4:25 am. It had grown lighter, the world around them now washed in dim shades of gray as the promise of dawn crept over the horizon. He ran his fingers absently through Daisy's hair where she rested against his chest and sighed, wondering again just what the heck he thought he was doing.

He was letting himself get too close, and thoughts of the type that had kept him sane during the long hours in prison had visited him more than once during the night as Daisy slept in his arms, blurring the lines between right and wrong. As hard as he tried to justify that he was only shielding her from the wind and that he was afraid she would hurt herself leaning against the cold metal, he was painfully aware of how much he wanted her close to him and how her touch - which had always rattled him in years past, seemed now to possess some miraculous power over his usual nervous fidgeting. His arms tightened around her shoulders in fierce protectiveness - with a love that was almost painful to him, and he wished with all his heart that he could keep her safe.

If only she would leave him and go home and play along with his plan by telling the GBI that he'd forced her to help him escape... But he knew she wouldn't. Whatever it was that held her to him - whether love or guilt or pity or the memory of a past buried under the weight of many years - she was nothing if not stubborn. It was a quality he'd learned to put up with when they were young and then to cherish as time went on, but the thought of Daisy behind bars made him strive keep his distance. He needed to be ready for any opportunity to set things right.

The sun burst suddenly above the hills to their east, spilling warm amber light across them, and Daisy shifted and mumbled sleepily. He sat back and dropped his arms from around her. The sudden squealing of the air brakes roused her with a start. She raised her head and looked around.

"It's okay, it's just the brakes," said Enos, seeing the confusion on her face. "I reckon we're gettin' close."

She sat back from him and pulled the hair out of her eyes, only then realizing that she had slept through the night. Shocked, her eyes focused on his in mild recrimination. "Oh, Enos, you should've woken me up!" she scolded, gently. "You couldn't've been comfortable."

He brushed aside her concern with only a hint of color in his cheeks. "Shucks Daisy, I'm fine. I didn't want t' sleep anyways in case we stopped."

She crawled over to the edge of the porch and peered over the wall. "There's some houses out there."

Enos stood up shakily, his hand against the back wall for support, and rubbed at his shoulders which were cramped from sitting up all night. "We're probably gettin' close to Etowah," he said. "If we get off soon, maybe we can walk around and scout out th' yard first. I wish we had a dang map."

"Maybe there's a gas station or something we could get one at."

He stared incredulously at her. "We can't just waltz into a gas station an' buy a map!" They might be like the blind leading the blind where being on the lam was concerned, but if she was thinking like that, they needed to talk about some ground rules.

"Why not?" she asked, unconcerned. "If we're catching another train, we'll be gone by the time they figure out who we are."

"Daisy, we don't even know if there's a train we can catch, yet. Besides, that's like goin' up an' thumbin' our noses at th' FBI. We oughta just lay low for a while 'till we shake 'em."

The air brakes sounded again and she caught onto the ladder beside her to keep her balance as the train lurched and slowed. "We need a plan," she shouted, over the noise.

He made his way over to stand beside her and nodded at the scenery that was now passing by at a less than dizzying pace. "Let's get off this train first," he said, "then we can talk about a plan."

* * *

It was just before 5:00 am when Bo and Luke pulled up the long rock drive to the Cole's house. As they parked the General in front of the house, a man stepped out onto the porch carrying a shotgun which he sat beside the door before walking down to meet them. As he neared, Luke felt a surge of panic. This was no old-timey, yokel, good-ol'-boy who had half a bag of marbles rolling around upstairs. Though his hair and beard were as white as snow, his face was younger than Luke had expected, and his ice blue eyes glittered shrewdly as he stared them down.

Luke nodded a greeting. "Howdy," he began, "I'm Luke Duke and this here's my cousin, Bo. We're lookin' for our cousin, Daisy Duke. We saw on th' news that she and Enos had been here earlier."

"I know who you are," the man told him, "but Daisy ain't here anymore."

"The news said they'd caught th' train that came by," explained Luke. "If you could just point us in the right direction to find her, we'd be much obliged."

The man didn't answer, but regarded them with an unreadable expression that made Luke feel somewhat foolish, as though he were child who had suddenly found himself in the midst of a conversation he was too young to understand.

Bo, his impatience finally getting the best of him, wedged past his older cousin. "Look here, mister," he said, flustered, "we sure would appreciate if you could help us out. We're all real worried about her."

"If you want t' keep her safe," said Jack, "I'd turn around and go back the way you came. The FBI's still watchin' this house_. _You'll lead 'em right to Enos and Daisy if you ain't careful."

Luke glanced around them, his eyes catching on the dark woods overlooking the house and a chill of paranoia ran down his spine.

"That ain't gonna happen, mister" Bo boasted. "I reckon me and Luke can out-drive anything on two, four, or ten wheels."

Jack didn't seem impressed. "Janey's got breakfast on," he told them, turning around and heading for the door, "come on in and sit a spell."

* * *

From a ridge overlooking the Etowah rail-yard, Enos and Daisy watched as the Tennessee State Police and a smaller convoy of Federal Agents searched the train they'd ridden in on from Copperhill. Their vantage point seemed safe enough, hidden where they lay beneath the scrub bushes at the edge of a steep overhang, but they were boxed in until things calmed down.

Enos watched the tracking dogs as the officers led them down the line of cars. "Them dogs'll hit on the car we were in for sure," he whispered to Daisy. "I just hope they think we've already caught another train." They'd seen two leave since they'd arrived at the ridge. Short trains - slow with dilapidated boxcars scrawled with graffiti that had obviously sat at many a siding.

"We could try to go around them and catch something else coming out of the station."

He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the scene below. "Our best bet's probably waitin' 'em out," he said. "They ain't gonna stay here forever. Give it a couple hours." He yawned and rolled over on his back, closing his eyes against the sun. "I'm beat, Daisy. I'm libel t' fall off a train if I tried to catch one now anyway."

Daisy leaned over him, blocking the sun and brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek. For Enos to suggest they stop and sleep meant he was a lot more tired that he was letting on. "You rest as long as you want, sugar," she said, softly, "I'll keep an eye on ya'."

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, studying her face. The sun had darkened her freckles, and without makeup to cover them they stood out against her lighter skin, making her seem younger than her years. Although she had always been beautiful to him, there was something about the way she was looking at him made his breath catch in his chest. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from her. "We're too out in the open here," he said, pulling himself up off the ground. "They probably won't send out a chopper, but you never know. I'll head back down where we left our things."

They'd stashed their packs not far from the ridge, where a circle of pines choked out the weeds to create a natural clearing. It was far enough from any paths to for him to not be spotted.

Fearing he might use the excuse to slip away from her and make his way back to where the police were searching, she followed after him, returning to the ridge only after he'd fallen asleep.

* * *

The breakfast with Jack and his wife, Jane, was cordial but tense, and Luke got the feeling that they would just as soon he and Bo take a flying leap off the ridge than direct them to where Daisy and Enos had gone. He couldn't for the life of him understand why they were being so secretive. Southern hospitality aside, he'd had just about enough of beating around the bush.

"So what you're sayin' is that you ain't got a clue where they went?" asked Luke, doubt thick in his voice.

Jack took a sip of his coffee and sat it back down on the table before answering. "I know I'm not tellin' you boys what you want to hear, but that's just the way it is," he said, matter-of-factly. "I know which way they went and where that track leads, but if they knew the FBI was following them, they could just as easily have gotten off somewhere else along the line. There's no way of telling."

"You say you know where that track leads," said Bo, "maybe we'll get lucky."

Jack shrugged. "The train they took was headed to Copperhill," he told them, "but there's any one of a dozen trains that might have been heading out of there and the next stop ain't until Etowah."

Luke wiped his hands on his napkin and dropped it back on the table as he rose. "If Etowah's where you think they might've gone, then that's where we're headed." He smiled warmly at Jane. "Mrs. Cole, we're much obliged for the meal, ma'am."

Jane nodded, but watched him and Bo with a worry in her eyes that Luke still didn't understand. Jack walked them to the door, but stopped at the edge of the porch as Luke and Bo continued on towards the General. As they walked away, Jack called them back.

"Tell me somethin', boys," he said, watching them closely. "Just what makes you think Daisy's wantin' to be found in the first place? Seems to me that she's got her own reasons for what she's done."

Bo nudged Luke gently. "Go on, tell him, Luke."

Luke glanced at Bo and nodded. "I'm afraid Daisy ain't been thinkin' too clearly, Mr. Cole, ever since Enos went to prison," he said, sadly. "You see, she...well, she took a lot of the blame for what happened to him on herself. The guilt just about ate her up inside, and she hadn't been sleepin' well up until the night she broke him out. We just want t' see her get safely home, is all...back where she belongs."

Much to his consternation, Jack only laughed. "You think she broke Enos out 'cause she felt _guilty_?" he asked, in disbelief. "You know, Luke, sometimes home's not the _place_ you belong...it's with _who_. Seems t' me y'all've got a lot t' learn about love." Before Luke could respond, he continued, "if you're wantin' to get past the FBI and up t' Etowah without being seen, there's only one way you're gonna do it."

"How's that, sir?"

Jack pointed past them, towards the valley on the other side of the ridge. "Catch a train."


	50. Etowah Depot

A/N: The "yard bull" is the slang name for the railroad security officer or the railroad cop.

* * *

_"Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they have to give."  
_-Unknown

* * *

The graffiti covered grainer that Luke Duke was riding seemed to be in desperate need of repair.

It inched around the curves so slowly that he thought he might make better time just running along beside it, and rattled as if it were in imminent danger of falling apart. He lay down and propped his head up against his rucksack, squinting at the sun flashing intermittently through the trees and waited for time to pass.

He had waited a good three hours in the woods at the bottom of the valley before a train came by that Jack deemed suitable for riding. With a few pointers about how not to get himself killed, the rucksack of camping gear he'd filched from home and forty dollars in his pocket, he had hopped aboard the dilapidated grainer on his way to Etowah. Even riding on the open porch, the car smelled mustily of grain dust and the floor was covered with a finely sifted chaff, blown in from when the hoppers had been filled, that danced in time with the vibration of the rails.

It was quiet. Not the kind that came with a lack of sound - of sounds there was a gracious plenty - but the internal quiet of true solitude. The last time he had he spent any measurable amount of time without company had been in the Marines and that had been by choice, not by design. Outside of his element, he had generally kept to himself, and besides, that was back when the Dukes had still been heavily entrenched in the moon-shining business. No need to call attention where none belonged. That was the _proper_ way of things.

Not like Daisy who had put the Duke family back on the radar of the authorities. What had she been thinking?

He'd sent Bo back home to Hazzard earlier that morning - back to Uncle Jesse and the farm. He didn't know how long it would take to find Enos and Daisy, and neither of them felt comfortable leaving their uncle alone for too long these days. It was like that story they'd heard in Sunday School growing up - how Jacob had sent all his sons to Egypt to buy food during the famine...except the_ youngest_. No...Benjamin couldn't go because his father had already lost his favorite child and couldn't bear to lose another.

Luke ran his hand through his hair in agitation, thinking of how hindsight was always 20-20. How many times had Uncle Jesse reminded them to look out for Daisy? He should have _seen_ that something had been wrong with her...should have said something more, done something different..

* * *

Etowah was a large yard for the size of the town, stretching nearly three-quarters of a mile long, with four tracks on the siding and another fifteen running past the station. It was so large, in fact, that Enos and Daisy agreed it would be safer to backtrack down the far side of the ridge, coming out not far from where they had originally gotten off the train and try to enter it from the south end. Here there were only two sets of double tracks to cross and they were away from the where they had seen the yard-bull patrolling in his white Ford Bronco.

Daisy looked up at the sky. It was cloudless and the days were still cool enough that it looked blue and not the hazy grayish-white that would come later in the summer when the humidity turned the air sticky and unpleasant. The birds sang cheerfully from the trees and the sweet smell of cut hay hung thick in the air.

Beside them a set of double rails ran along a wide, gravel covered bank; cutting through the wilderness like silver snakes. Where the gravel ended, the trees began – as though the railroad itself had grown from the forest around it and, if not beaten back by man, would be swallowed again in time.

They walked in silence. Enos had set a quick pace, and with his longer stride, Daisy was forced to half jog to keep up. She wished he would slow down, or at least _say_ something, but every attempt at conversation she had tried had ended in one or two word answers. He was so focused on worrying about things they had little or no control over, she wasn't sure he would notice if she was there or not. Losing the Feds at Etowah had been their first big break since they'd left Jack's, and it lightened Daisy's heart, but Enos still glanced nervously over his shoulder every so often, his eyes wary, scanning for signs of movement behind them.

She stole a wistful glance at him, feeling again the bubble of panic rise within her. It suggested that perhaps she was playing a rigged game - that he wasn't thinking of how to save _himself_ from the FBI, but _her alone -_ and that any ground she though she might have gained with him was merely a game of his own making. For the first time in her life, she had to admit that she honestly didn't trust him.

She quickened her pace in time with his steps and threaded her arm though his. "Stop worryin', sugar. If there was somebody followin' us, we'd know it by now."

He stopped and looked down at her, an apology in his eyes and a shy smile on his lips. "I'm sorry, Daisy. It just...it feels a little too easy, I guess. You sure you saw_ all_ of them FBI fellas leave?"

"Um hmm, about an hour before you woke up."

The FBI and State Police had left the railyard two hours after Enos had spotted them from the ridge. Daisy had waited another hour before waking him up from his nap. He claimed he felt fine after three hours of sleep, but he'd still managed to trip over the first track they'd crossed.

"You're _sure_?"

"I watched 'em with my own eyes, sugar. They packed up the dogs, got back in their cars and drove off."

"Possum on a gum-bush," he whispered, shaking his head in wonder. "I really thought they'd scout the area once them dogs hit on the car we's in."

She shrugged her shoulders and winced as the straps of her backpack shifted against the blisters it had rubbed. "Maybe they're still thinking we're hiding out in McCaysville or Copperhill."

"Maybe," he grunted, sounding unconvinced.

Twenty more minutes brought them to the South end of the yard, and the gray siding and white trim of the Etowah depot rose above the the trees ahead of them.

As they turned the last curve, they froze as a nearby voice called softly, "Enos?...Daisy?"

Daisy spun around, fully prepared to face an armed FBI Agent, but her view was obstructed by a squat metal shed, painted the same gray as the depot, that stood at the edge the empty parking lot. She thought of swat teams... hiding...waiting to seize the two of them.

Enos caught the strap of her backpack and pulled her back behind him."It could be a set-up, Daisy," he murmured, echoing her own fear. "Don't say nothin'." She leaned into him, her body taut and her hands gripping his waist, as he addressed the disembodied voice.

"Uh...were you talkin' to _us_, ma'am?"

A young woman stepped out from behind the shed, and Enos moved back, wondering if he should tell Daisy to run.

The woman glanced nervously between the two of them. "I'm really sorry, but...but if y'all are who I _think_ you are, I sure am glad I didn't miss ya'. Trippy called last night and said you might be comin' through, so I've been watchin' from the attic of the depot when I got a chance. I was worried I'd missed you until I saw you down the line a half mile back."

Enos, still not convinced the girl wasn't with the FBI, shook his head. "I'm awful sorry, ma'am, but we're just passin' through." He grabbed Daisy's hand and pulled her with him as he turned to go.

"Wait!" she called after them. "Please... Jack said you might not trust me. He said t' ask you if you still had the book he gave you...the one he used when he rode the rails."

Enos stopped in his tracks and shut his eyes against the memory of that day in Jack's basement. It seemed like months had passed since then. Knowing that only Jack could have told her such a thing, he turned back around and stepped forward.

"Enos Strate, ma'am," he said, holding out his hand, "and if you're a friend of Jack's, then I'm awful pleased t' meet you."

Her eyes lit up with her smile as she shook his hand. "Annie Reece, Mr. Strate," she said, warmly, "and if what I've been hearin' about y'all is true, the honor's all mine."

Daisy stepped forward. "You said Jack called you?"

Annie nodded. "Last night, late," she said. "I work th' night shift at the CSX station. My dad an' Jack go back a long ways."

"Army buddies?" asked Daisy, wondering how they might have known each other.

"_Army_?" she laughed. "No... My dad's Coldwater Steve. He an' Trippy Jack are the last of a dying breed. There aren't many of the old-time hobos out on the rails these days."

"You look a little young t' have a dad from the good-old days," said Enos, thinking that the girl couldn't be much over nineteen or twenty.

"I'm older than I look," she said, grinning up at him, "and my dad was fifty-two when I was born." She turned and gestured for them to follow her. "Come on, I need t' get you into the depot before someone else sees you. There's been all sorts of cops pokin' their noses in here all day long, not to mention the FBI agent who's ridin' around with the bull."

Enos shot a disapproving look at Daisy who shrugged apologetically.

"Uh, no offense, ma'am, but is the depot really the safest place?" he asked, thinking that going into the depot was kind of like trying to break _into_ prison instead of _out_ of it. "You don't reckon we'd be better off just lyin' low until we can catch another train?"

"Out here's the worst place you could be," she said. "The depot's just a museum now since all we run is CSX freight these days. There's just me working dispatch today, but the next train's not due in for almost two hours so you've got perfect timing. Besides, Jack said you weren't set up t' go ridin' around on trains and asked me to get you some better supplies."

"_Supplies_?" asked Daisy, not altogether certain about either the girl or being led to a place the FBI might be watching.

"Catchin' freight trains ain't like ridin' the bus," Annie answered, with a touch of humor in her voice. "Don't worry though, I'll fix y'all up."

* * *

Annie led them though the heavy oak doors of the depot turned museum, and into a room which time had forgotten.

The waiting area was narrow and long with a hardwood floor laid by hand in thin strips of oak, lovingly waxed and polished over many decades. The grain of each piece gleamed with it's own unique pattern, as if they harbored within them memories of many years. A matching oak wainscoting skirted the walls and above that ran thin strips of horizontal, white-washed paneling. The area was quaint and charming despite its utilitarian function.

At the far end of the room was a wide counter with a glass partition above it that still read "tickets", though the paint had peeled and faded over the years. Along the side walls sat two long wooden benches with wrought iron armrests. Enos imagined the place as it must have been sixty years ago, bustling with energy, when trains had been the heart-line of America.

With a sigh, he tore his eyes and thoughts away from the museum and followed Annie through a doorway and into another room which was more modern and considerably more disorganized. A row of gray metal filing cabinets stood against the far wall, their labels yellowed and unreadable. Upon them, stacks of binders, folders, and sheaves of loose papers leaned precariously against each other, ready to fall if the dust around them was disturbed. In the center of the room was a long table with one side pushed flush against the wall. A single light bulb hung unprotected from the ceiling, casting a harsh glare and adding to the dystopia.

Annie gestured them to sit down before pulling up another chair, and with an air of authority that didn't match her young appearance, proceeded to lay out several maps in front of them. "First things first," she said. "Let's find out where you're goin'."

Daisy and Enos stole confused glanced at each other as she sat down and opened a folder she had taken from the counter.

"Where we're goin'?" Enos repeated, hesitantly.

"Um hum...," she answered distractedly, studying a page of numbers. "I think Jack's right...the midwestern route's gonna be your best bet, but we've still gotta get you through to De Butts first 'cause there's nothing else going out from here. I could send you north to Knoxville, but you'd be better off staying away from the larger cities."

Enos, who understood very little of what she was saying, shook his head. "I reckon I ain't real familiar with none of that fancy railroad talk, ma'am."

The girl stopped and looked up at him, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Mr. Strate, you gotta quit callin' me ma'am. It makes me feel old, like the kids that call me the "museum lady". Just call me Annie."

"Shucks, you sure ain't old!" he said with an endearing grin. "An' you can call me Enos...I mean...if you want, since that's my name...uh, well, unless-... Ow!" He glared at Daisy who had kicked his shin underneath the table. "Why'd you go an' do that for?"

"Cause she's tryin' to tell us somethin' and you're rattlin' on about nothin'." With a smirk she said, "His _real_ name's Benjamin," and pretended not to notice the glare Enos shot her.

"Oh, I _love_ that name," gushed Annie, oblivious to the conflict between her two visitors. "I have a nephew named Benjamin, but we call him Benny."

"My name's Enos," he grumbled, rubbing his bruised shin. "Where'd you say we needed to go?"

"Oh, right! Sorry..." She pointed to the rail map in front of the three of them. "There's a twelve-fifteen leaving out on track six to DeButts yard in Chattanooga," she explained, circling the city. "I wish there was something more direct out west, but there's a dead spot between here and Nashvile and three counties without a connecting line."

She looked back down and tapped her pencil in thought for a moment. "You know what...Jack's worried about y'all getting caught switching trains at Memphis, but I think I've got a better idea. We've got a really nice grainer here that belongs to the Tennessee Southern Railway that needs to get rerouted back to them." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, although the reasoning was lost on Enos and Daisy. "I think I'll just reroute it the _scenic_ way." She scooted her chair back from the table. "I'm gonna call Rosie down at Forest Yard in Memphis and see what they've got going out tonight." She picked up the phone that hung on the wall just inside the door and dialed a number.

Daisy leaned closer to Enos. "Did you hear her say out west?" she whispered to him. "How far west is "_out west_"?"

He shrugged. "I reckon maybe Memphis?"

They listened to the one sided phone conversation, but hearing only Annie's part didn't go far in explaining the plans that had she had apparently conjured up for them.

"...It's TSRR145988," she was saying. "If I could get that on something going up to KC tonight, that would be great." She glanced up at Enos and Daisy and flashed them a reassuring smile. "...Yeah, I know. No, you know how it is, this guy says he needs his shipment in LA tomorrow and I told him there's no way it's gonna be there this week..." She laughed. "Hey, I owe ya' one. Thanks a lot...you too...bye'."

Annie hung up the phone and scribbled a few numbers down on her paper before picking it back up and dialing the operator. "Hi Sue, say could you get me the Murray railyard at Kansas City?...Sure, I can wait...thanks." She covered the receiver with her hand. "I'm gonna try to go ahead and get you through KC, too, so you won't have to switch trains."

She turned her attention back to the phone. "Hi, Grace, this is Anne Reece down at Etowah. I've got a shipment going up there and I need to get it out on the SF western route tonight if possible...It's on a BN 5:45 from Forest Yard. Is there anything going out west that late?...Really? That's great...sure, it's TSRR145988...You, too...Thanks a lot."

She hung up the phone and flashed them a grin. "Well that was easy enough." She turned the map around so they could see it. "Okay...When you catch out here at Etowah, the car I'll put you on is gonna take you all the way out west, but they'll be moving your car to different trains at Memphis and then again at Kansas City. Don't get worried when they unhook you, just stay on the car I've put you in, but make sure you hunker down under the hoppers because security is crazy around the bigger cities. I'm having them hook y'all onto the LA-53 in KC on it's western run. That train's a cannonball to Los Angeles."

"Los Angeles...possum on a gumbush..."

Daisy shook her head. "What's a cannonball?"

"It just means the train doesn't stop at any stations on the way."

Enos was overwhelmed by the scope of the plan. "That's...quite a trip, ma'am- uh, Annie."

"I'm sending y'all as far away from where the FBI might be lookin' as possible," she said. "The Sante Fe's western route will take you through Kansas and Oklahoma and across the Rockies before it turns around in Los Angeles and comes back east. Jack's plan wasn't to get you to California, just off the FBI's radar. Union Pacific has a quicker route, but it runs too close to Mexico and they'll probably be checking those stops. This Sante Fe route will keep you outta the desert, too. There's nothin' worse than gettin' stuck out in the desert for three or four days waiting for a train to come by."

Daisy was more worried about the distance. "How long a trip is it?"

"It's three days from KC to LA," answered Annie, and laughed at the expressions on their faces.

"_Three days_ with no stops!?" cried Daisy.

"It's three days with no _station_ stops," she explained. "But trains have to change crews every twelve hours. Usually it takes about ten minutes for a crew change, but always get off together and take your stuff because some engineers do rolling stops even though they aren't supposed to. That means they'll slow the train down just enough for them to hop off and the new crew to hop on without actually coming to a full stop. It saves time since it doesn't take as long for the new crew to get the train back up to speed."

"So we'd only have about ten minutes between stops?"

"If you're tired of riding, you can just get off at a crew change spot and set up camp and then wait for the next crew change. There's usually a train everyday on this route, but the time's might be different, so just be ready. And make sure it's headed the right way," she added.

"So these crew changes," said Enos, "how do we know when they are?"

"That's what Jack's book is," she told him. "It's a crew change guide. Most hobos carry one. If you've got it, I'll show you how t' use it."

Daisy handed Enos his backpack, but he shook his head. "It ain't in mine," he said softly, not meeting her eyes, and something in his voice made Daisy's heart skip a sickening beat. "I put it in yours...just in case."

She unzipped her bag, thinking darkly of all the reasons why Enos might have put something he had been entrusted with into _her_ care instead of his.

"It's wrapped up in your blue shirt at th' bottom."

She felt through her clothes and found it where he had put it. As she pulled it out, Enos held out his hand.

"Here...Daisy, let me have it, please."

She looked up at him, but his eyes were riveted on the book. _He's scared_, she thought, and yet she couldn't fathom what had suddenly caused him such panic. Making a mental note to get to the bottom of everything later in private, she held the book out to him. As she did, a piece of paper slipped from its pages and settled on the floor beneath her chair.

In a desperate move, Enos tried to grab it first, knocking his chair over and tripping himself up in the process. Daisy, who was used to such uncoordinated displays from him, picked up the paper.

"Daisy...please...gosh, don't read it."

She ignored him.

_Dear Daisy,_

_By the time you read this, you should be safely back at Jack's house. Please return this book to him and tell him how much I appreciated everything he did for us. Please don't be blaming Matt for letting me go. He didn't know anything about what I had planned and neither did Jack or Jane. It's best this way, Daisy, I want you to believe that. Whether they've taken me back to prison or whether I'm dead, it doesn't matter to me so don't come tryin' to save me again. I'm sorry I snookered you, but it was the only way I knew to keep you safe until your name gets cleared. You know I love you._

_-Enos._

He still knelt before her where he had fallen from his chair. She refolded the note and looked down, into the eyes of a man still haunted by his past and terrified of the future. She told herself he must have written it days ago, and that he'd chosen _her_ on that ridge instead of turning himself in, but in her heart she knew the truth was closer to her unspoken fears. He was simply running to bide his time, and the day he deemed it safe for her to go back home would be the last day she ever saw him.

Her breath caught in her throat as a sob and she looked away, towards Annie, who was watching the two of them with the wide-eyed look of someone who has stumbled suddenly upon a secret tryst.

"Uh...I can show y'all how t' use the book later, if you'd rather."

Daisy took a deep breath and blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. "Nope, we're just fine, Annie," she said, "I just...seem to have gotten somethin' in my eye is all. Is there a bathroom around?"

"Sure..." She gestured back towards the door they had come through. "Down past the waiting room and turn left."

Not trusting her voice even to say 'thank-you', Daisy swept out the door, thinking of Enos and all his damned letters. Her footsteps echoed through the empty station as Enos righted his chair and sat down with a heavy heart.

Annie watched him in silence for a moment before asking softly, "Are you two..."

Enos fidgeted nervously and rubbed his neck as it flushed a splotchy crimson. "We're just..." He paused, not knowing how to continue. What _were_ they? Friends didn't seem to cover it. "I...don't rightly know what to call us sometimes."

Annie's hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Oh, no! I didn't mean...Gosh, Enos, I wasn't askin' about nothin' _personal_." She laughed in an effort to hide her embarrassment. "I was gonna ask if you two were alright. Daisy seemed kinda upset."

"She'll be fine," he said, waving off her concern. But as he glanced back at the door Daisy had disappeared through, he knew that the trip to Kansas City was going to a very, very, long ride.


	51. Luke Duke Meets His Match

**_A/N: This is the 2nd update this week, so please make sure you've read Chapter 50 first._**

_Hope everyone is having a great summer and thanks so much for all the reviews!_

* * *

_Desperado, oh you ain't gettin' no younger._  
_Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home._  
_ And freedom, oh freedom, well that's just some people talkin'._  
_Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone._  
-The Eagles

* * *

The last two hours at Etowah had been spent with Annie going through their provisions, clucking her tongue over this and that, unimpressed with their clothes, shelter, and Daisy's homemade sleeping bags.

"You know th' floor of a rail car is cold and hard, right?" she'd asked them. "Trust me, you're gonna want somethin' better when you get up in the mountains."

Something better had been two drab green sleeping bags she'd found at the local army surplus store. With some squeezing, they fit snugly into the loops Daisy had sewn onto their backpacks. She had also reduced their clothes to three sets a piece, explaining that laundromats were everywhere and if they got in and out of a town quickly, they weren't likely to garner any attention by cops until they had already moved on.

"Clean your clothes and refill your water bottles, then go to an IGA an' get some food and get out. If you were just two normal people out hitching a ride, I'd tell you to set up camp near your catch out points, but since the cops might get wise and check them out, I'd walk further into the woods. Or find a State Park," she suggested, "most of those have showers and snack machines, and if you stay away from the trails, no one is gonna bother you."

She'd also wanted to know where exactly they thought they were going to sleep if it started raining and they weren't on a train. After listening to Enos stammer something about trees, she had stuffed a small, compact, army issue tent into his backpack. To Daisy's she had added two dozen packages of something called 'Ramen Noodles', which she said were lighter weight than carrying cans and weren't bad in a pinch, a lightweight skillet and small, two-cup saucepan.

Last but not least, she'd given them two green army jackets with hoods, assuring them that they'd be glad they had them at night.

Enos had insisted on paying for everything, but she'd waved him off, telling him that the guy at the surplus store was another former hobo and that he'd practically given the stuff away after Jack had called him.

"I'm just the middle man," she'd said, laughing.

During it all, Daisy had not said a word to Enos, focusing her efforts on trying to appear as though the man next to her hadn't ripped her heart out and torn it to pieces. Enos meanwhile ignored her, asking polite questions of Annie while she showed them how to use Jack's crew-change guide, and the Railroad Atlas of North America which she foisted on them as well.

But Annie didn't miss the looks they gave each other when the other wasn't looking, and she recalled what Jack had told her about the two of them. _Soul-mates_. That had been the term he had used. She knew Jack and Jane well enough to trust his judgment on the matter.

* * *

In order to give Enos and Daisy plenty of safe cover, Annie paged the yard bull and the FBI Agent to the CSX station on the pretext of having them fill out some paperwork which she had conveniently forgotten earlier. The white Ford Bronco pulled up outside the little white building just north of the museum and before the door had shut behind the two men, Daisy was gone - walking swiftly across the yard to the grainer Annie had pointed out to them which sat alone on a siding.

Enos stumbled after her, tripping over the loose gravel.

"Daisy...wait!"

She didn't stop and he ran to catch up with her, getting to the bottom of the ladder just as she was climbing over the last rung and onto the porch.

"Daisy..."

"Don't!" she hissed, glaring down at him. "Don't even say it, Enos. Whatever you're thinking of telling me, just forget it." She walked to the far corner of the porch, out of sight.

"Daisy," he pleaded, following her up, "please...just give me a chance to explain..."

She spun around to face him, her eyes bright with tears and anger. "I _read_ your explanation, remember?"

"That ain't what was s'posed to happen-"

"_What_ wasn't supposed t' happen? Me findin' the note, or you still bein' alive when I found it?"

He took her by the arm, but she shook him off. "Ding-dang it, woman! I'm tryin' to save you from goin' t' prison!"

"Then quit tryin' to get yourself caught!"

He didn't answer and turned away from her to shove his backpack through the hole in the back of the porch, hiding it in the small area underneath the hoppers before climbing through himself. The space was four feet long by four feet wide, with the clearance five feet at the front, sloping to three near the back where the bottom of the hopper was welded together. Enos crouched down against the wall.

"They're fixin' to hook us up to the train in a minute," he called, "so you'd best get in here where they can't see you. You can yell at me just as well in here as out there." His voice echoed loudly inside the metal compartment.

"Dang it! You stubborn, obstinate, mule-headed...!" She grabbed her backpack and followed him through the hole, throwing it down opposite his. "Tell me somethin', Enos -" She fished a white square of paper from the pocket of her jeans which she unfolded and brandished at him. "Did you mean _this_ when you wrote it?"

He stared at the dog-eared piece of notebook paper. It was deeply creased where it had been read and folded and re-read many times and he knew, without looking at the words, that it was the letter he had written her from Jackson.

"Of course I meant it," he said, evading her gaze.

"Read it to me...the first part, not the drivel about me finding someone else."

_"No._"

The absoluteness in his tone caught her off-guard. She'd expected him to stutter and stammer and blush, not flat out refuse.

"If you meant it, then why can't you say it!?" she shouted. Then, just to irk him, she added, "Maybe you _didn't_ mean it..."

"Daisy, it doesn't matter what I _want_ or what I _feel_. What matters is that as long as you're with me, you're in danger. And if you think for one second I won't try to keep you safe, then you ain't learned nothin' about me in the last thirty years."

"You're right...this ain't about _you_. This is about _us_!"

"There ain't no us_," _he said, leaving no room for debate_._ "There's _you_ and there's _me_, and I'm tryin' to make sure you don't end up six feet under! The FBI's libel to shoot me on sight."

Both of them startled as the grainer began to move and seconds later there was a massive bang and the car jerked as the coupling connected with the car ahead of it. She looked back at him, but his attention was on the track moving slowly past them beyond the the hole in the grainer wall.

How could she make him understand that she didn't care about her own safety? That she only wanted _him_, for however long God granted him to her and that, after twenty years of wrong turns, she had finally figured out what love was all about. He couldn't ask her to give him up.

_"...you are the sun above me, the stars, my moon, my autumn sky. You are the wind I cannot feel, my breath as try to fall asleep..."_

She looked tearfully down at the words he had written, thinking of all the years she had wasted when she could have been his and how it was too late now and he would never let her get close to him...not completely.

"It's not fair," she said. "It's not fair that now, when I know I love you, you don't want me anymore," but the sound of her voice was drowned beneath the rattle and vibration of the moving car.

* * *

Luke walked north along the edge of the Etowah rail-yard, his eyes on the metal building ahead of him where a white truck was parked. As he passed the museum, the loud bang of a grain car being coupled to a nearby train made him jump. A brakeman hurried over and checked the connection, then plucked a radio from his belt as he moved back from the train. There was a sound of rushing air and a screech far up the line and the train began to move slowly out of the yard. Luke turned away and resumed his walk.

He greeted two men as they came out of the building, deciding to play it as though he belonged there. He'd stashed his pack at the south end of the yard and without it he blended in with the other workers and brakemen milling about the yard. Neither man gave him a second glance as he pulled open the door that read "Employees Only".

He entered into a small, cluttered space that was reminiscent of Cooter's Garage. The cheap paneling was covered with maps and charts, and a calendar depicting an ancient steam engine hung askew to the left of the door. There was a smell of metal and oil, of brake dust and dirt. At a large desk, surrounded by stacks of binders and papers, a young woman with shoulder length brown hair stared up at him with a questioning expression.

"Can I help you with somethin'?"

He shifted uncomfortably, having fully prepared himself to be meeting a burly, railroad man, and not this slip of a girl who looked like she might be playing hooky from high-school.

"Uh...are you th' one in charge here?"

She raised her eyebrows, amusement shining in her eyes. "I'm th' one who knows what's goin' on around here," she said, "but if you wanna talk to a guy, I can go grab you one of th' workers." She jerked her thumb back towards the door. "I can't promise they'll know what you're talkin' about though."

Luke grinned at her. "No, ma'am, I reckon I'd best talk to you then."

"What can I do for you, Mr...?"

"Duke...Luke Duke." He walked closer and held out his hand. She stood and shook it with a grip that told him she was used to dealing with guys tougher than him. "I'm sorry t' bother you, but I'm trying to track down my cousin. She's got long brown hair, kinda thin. She's probably with a guy who's really tall, black hair. I heard they might've come through here."

"Well, that description fits about a third of the people here in Etowah, but if you're lookin' for Daisy and Enos, I put 'em on a train not half an hour ago."

"You did!?" He had worried about saying their names, afraid she might be helping the FBI. "Ma'am, if you could help me find 'em, I'd be mighty grateful."

She regarded him silently, searching his face before asking, "What are you wantin' to find them for?"

"Well, you see, Daisy's my cousin-"

"I gathered she was _somethin'_ to you."

"This whole thing's gotten mighty crazy, what with her runnin' off with Enos-"

"I believe she broke him out of prison," Annie corrected him. "That's considerably more involved than 'running off with him'."

Luke shook his head. "She's awful confused," he explained. "We just want t' find her and bring her back home. Hopefully we can work it out with the FBI to get her name cleared."

"Who's _we_?"

"Her family," he answered, confused as to why she seemed unaffected by his story. In fact, if he was reading her right, he would swear that she didn't want to help him at all.

"Well," she said breezily, "she didn't seem confused t' me, but I can point you in the right direction if you'd like."

Luke tried his best smile out on her. "I'd really appreciate that, ma'am."

She nodded and rifled through some papers next to her on the desk, pulling one out to look at it closer. After a moment she looked back up at him, giving him a lopsided grin that made him wish there were more girls like her in Hazzard. Less bimbo...more brains. He grinned back.

"Mr. Duke-"

"Luke."

"Alright, Luke, if you come with me, I've got just the place for you. There's a boxcar on track four that's going up towards Cincinnati. If you catch it, you should be one step behind them."

"That sounds great...uh...I didn't catch your name."

"It's Miss Reece," she answered, with a smirk. "Did you bring anything with you? A pack or bindle or somethin'?"

"It's in the trees at the end of the yard," he answered, "Should I go grab it now?"

"Well, I expect so, unless you're ridin' on the fly. Might be a long trip, though." She got up and walked past him and out the door, motioning for him to follow. "The boxcar's on that line there," she said, pointing to a freight train that was stopped on the far siding. It's the one that someone spray painted 'Frog Man Rulz' on in bright green paint. You can't miss it."

He turned to face her. "I'm much obliged to ya', Miss Reece," he said. "Maybe... Maybe I'll stop by again sometime and say hello."

She smiled. "You do that."

He waved and walked away quickly, towards the southern end of the rail-yard.

"Yeah, you come back and say 'hi', Luke," she snickered to herself, "if you ever get back from the middle of nowhere."

Annie went back into the dispatch office, picked up the phone and dialed a long-distance number. A familiar voice picked up on the third ring.

"Hey Jack, thanks for the head's up. Luke just came by...No, I took care of him. That train I put him on is gonna stop at every siding from here to New York City. It'll take him three days just to get outta Tennessee." She laughed. "Yeah, I saw the way they looked at each other. Gotta stick up for what's right, don't we?...You too. Take care of yourself...talk to ya' later...Bye'."

* * *

The train disappeared into the forest as they left the openness of the rail yard, the tall trees hiding the sun which had shone bright and hot upon them just minutes before. Enos remained quiet, his face now steeped in shadows, unreadable and unreachable. When at last he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. It echoed in the enclosed space, like an underscore of sorrow. "Daisy... Do you have any idea how scared I am t' have you with me?"

His confession stole away her lingering anger. With a sigh, she moved across the car and sat down beside him. "We're not gonna get caught, sugar," she said, "we'll be smart...keep movin'."

He rubbed at the stress in his face. "I'm duty-bound t' turn myself in," he said, as though trying to convince himself of it. "It ain't right...just runnin' away."

"Enos, you ain't bound to that back-stabbin', life-stealin', no-good GBI! How's it right to put an innocent man in prison, especially one who's a cop so's he can get jumped by every hardened criminal with a grudge against th' law?"

He looked down, picking at his ragged nails. "I never said it was, Daisy."

She brought his chin up to look at her. "Then fight, Enos."

Lost in her eyes, he felt the pull that had been between them for as long as he could remember. She was his ocean, drowning him - coaxing him away from the shore and the rocks, and his heart skipped a beat at the undeniable passion she aroused in him. For a moment he couldn't remember what he was fighting against and he felt an urgent need both to throw himself to the mercy of that sea and to take her in his arms and end all divisions between them. But she deserved better than a jail bird.

With effort, he blinked and dragged his eyes away. "I _am_ fighting, Daisy."

"You're fighting _me_," she said. "Fight _them_."

She waited for an answer that she knew would not come. Watched him fidget, gathering his thoughts...thinking of how to change the subject. What he did next surprised her. He turned back, caught her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"I can't, hun," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Before she could think of an answer, he ducked through the hole and out onto the porch of the grainer, leaving her alone.


End file.
